Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There is a window he hasn’t opened in six years.
He doesn’t remember the last time he looked through it.

The curtains are shut, sealed tight with pins and tape, like that’ll keep the world out. Like that’ll keep him in. He lives in a cage he built himself—four walls, one bed, a desk littered with empty mugs and forgotten drafts. Sometimes it feels like even the air in here has stopped moving.

Izuku Midoriya is eighteen years old, and he hasn’t touched sunlight since he was thirteen .

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. Always quiet. Except for the sound of the fridge humming, the occasional buzz of a delivery at the door, or the keyboard clicks when he’s working. Writing is the only thing he still does. Ghost stories, mostly. People pay well to be scared by fiction. Funny, considering he’s drowning in the real thing.

His name means “to go forth.”
But he hasn’t gone anywhere in years.

His mom is dead. His dad doesn’t call. The people at school found out he was alone and made sure he never forgot it. The last time someone touched him, it was a push to the floor and the echo of laughter. The last time someone said his name, it was spit like venom.

Now, no one says his name at all.

There are nights when he lies on the floor, eyes wide open, listening to nothing. He wonders what would happen if he just… stopped. Would anyone notice? Would anyone care?

Fear, people say, is loud. Screaming. Crying. Running.

No—it’s not.

Fear is silence.
Fear is a door that never opens.
Fear is waking up and feeling nothing but the weight in your chest and the ache in your throat and the voice that tells you:
You’re safe in here.
You deserve to be alone.
You’re too broken to fix.

So he listens.
He stays.

Until one day, someone knocks on the door.

And everything starts to crack.

Chapter Text

Mornings don't start with sunlight anymore.

They start with the ding of a notification.

Izuku Midoriya opens his eyes to the familiar blue glow of his laptop screen, blinking against the dull ache behind his eyes. Another message from his editor. Another deadline reminder. Another day in the same 300-square-foot box that has become his entire world.

He doesn't move right away. Just stares at the ceiling, breathing shallow and quiet. Some part of him is always listening—for sirens, for voices in the hallway, for... something. But there's nothing. Just the hum of the fridge, the rattle of the old heater, and the sound of his own heartbeat.

Eventually, he sits up.

The room smells like instant noodles and stale air. He can't remember the last time he opened a window. The curtains are taped shut, and even the cracks in the blinds are covered. He doesn't need to see outside. He already knows what's out there: noise, people, judgment. The open sky that makes his chest seize and his knees go weak.

Izuku hasn't left this building in over 6 years.

His feet touch the cold floor, and he shuffles to the kitchenette. He pours cereal into a chipped bowl and eats it dry, chewing without tasting. No milk. He's been out for days. Delivery won't bring it unless he hits the minimum order, and he's already stretched his budget this month. Dad stopped sending money la few years ago. Said something about "being fourteen soon" and "needing to learn responsibility."

He left when Izuku was seven. Came back for a year. Then vanished again.

Figures.

After breakfast, he works. He writes horror fiction under a fake name. Ghost stories, cursed objects, disappearances—nothing too fancy. His editor likes his "realistic tone." She doesn't know the realism comes from living like a ghost himself.

Around noon, there's a thud outside his door.

Lunch delivery. He waits until he hears the footsteps fade, then counts to 100 before opening it just a crack. Grabs the bag. Shuts the door. Locks it three times.

Always three.

He eats on the floor in silence. Writes some more. Stares at the wall. Maybe takes a nap, maybe doesn't. Time doesn't work the same in here. Everything blurs.

At some point in the afternoon, there's a knock at the door.

Not a thud. A knock.

Firm. Rhythmic. Intentional.

Izuku freezes.

No deliveries knock.

No one visits.

His breath catches in his throat, and his entire body goes still, like a deer in headlights. He doesn't move. Doesn't make a sound. Maybe they'll go away.

But they don't.

A voice follows—low, calm, a little rough around the edges.

"Sorry to bother you. I'm with the Hero Commission. We're asking around the area—there've been some suspicious villain sightings. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Izuku backs away from the door like it's on fire.

A hero. A real one. Standing right there!

He doesn't reply.

"Hello?" the voice tries again. "Is anyone home?"

Izuku presses his back to the far wall, clutching the edge of the table. His lungs feel tight. Panic stirs in his gut, sharp and cold.

“I'm not here to cause trouble," the voice adds, a little softer now. "Just routine questioning. If you've seen or heard anything, it could help us."

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut. ‘Go away. Please go away’ he thought to himself.

Silence. A beat. Then—

“Alright. If you remember anything, here's my card. I’ll slide it under the door if you're not comfortable opening it."

A pause. A soft scrape of paper against the floor.

Then footsteps, fading away.

Izuku waits.

Ten seconds. Thirty. A full minute.

Only when he's sure the hall is empty does he crawl forward and pick up the card.

‘Aizawa Shota — Pro Hero: Eraserhead’

He stares at the name for a long time. He's heard it before. A low-profile underground hero. Not flashy. Quiet. The kind that sees things other people miss.

The kind that doesn't knock on doors without a reason.

Izuku flips the card over. A number. An official seal.

He doesn't throw it away.

But he doesn't call either.

He just puts it on the desk... and goes back to pretending the world doesn't exist.

Even as something inside him whispers—

That man's going to come back.

And this time, he might not leave so easily.

Chapter Text

The memories linger longer than he means them to.

Izuku sits in the same spot for what feels like hours, knees pulled up to his chest, head resting against the cold wall. The apartment is still dark, lit only by the faint blue glow of his laptop screen across the room. His cereal bowl is still on the table, untouched since morning.

He doesn't cry anymore. That stopped years ago.

But his chest still aches in that familiar, hollow way. Like something inside him is trying to scream through his ribs, but doesn't remember how.

His eyes flick to the floor.

The business card is still there, where he dropped it.

Eraserhead — Pro Hero: Aizawa Shota.

He doesn't want it.

He doesn't want what it means. That someone saw him. That someone knows he's in here. That there's a line back to the world now—a thread, no matter how thin, pulling at the edge of the cocoon he's wrapped himself in.

He picks it up anyway.

Holds it between his fingers like it might burn him.

For a long time, he just stares at it. Then, finally—quietly—he whispers into the still air:

'I'm not worth saving.'

The room doesn't argue.

But the card stays in his hand.

And outside the window, behind layers of curtains and tape and fear, the city is still breathing.

Waiting.

Before the door was locked.
Before the curtains were sealed.
Before Izuku Midoriya became a ghost in his own life—
He tried to be a person.

He really did.

He wore long sleeves to cover the bruises, smiled when his stomach hurt from hunger, laughed too loud when the class looked at him sideways. He told himself it wasn't that bad.

That if he just kept his head down, people would stop noticing him.
That maybe someone, anyone would notice something was wrong.

But no one did.

He remembered when his father left, on a rainy morning without looking back. Just a suitcase, a note on the table, and a message for the landlord that "his mother will take care of it." His mother cried for days. Then she stopped crying and started forgetting to cook. Then she stopped leaving the bed. He of course was blamed for it, he would always be blamed for his father leaving. He carried that burden with him all his life.

Izuku learned how to make instant noodles when he was eight. He stopped asking her for help after she screamed at him for breaking a plate. She apologized later, crying again, holding him too tight.

He told her it was okay. He wanted it to be okay.

At school, it was small things at first.

His notebook going missing. His name scratched off the seat chart. People whispering when he walked past. Teachers who looked the other way. He tried to tell them he didn't have a Quirk yet, but they already assumed the worst: another useless kid in a hero-obsessed world.

It got worse when the other students found out he went home alone. That he brought the same sandwich every day. That he flinched when someone raised their hand too fast near him.

They laughed when he dropped his books.
They laughed harder when he cried.

By ten, the laughter turned to shoves. Tripping in the hall. Getting locked in the supply closet. Being told, "Why are you still here?"

His mom died in her sleep. No hospital. No dramatic collapse. Just a cold morning, the smell of burnt rice, and a silence too heavy to be anything but real.

Izuku sat with her body until the landlord came knocking.

His father showed up for the funeral, said all the right things with a tired expression and dry eyes. Told the state he could "arrange living arrangements." Signed a few papers. Promised to transfer money monthly.

Izuku was given a studio apartment near the edge of the city. A quite secluded area, where only a few older people live. It was a place where no one got into anyones business and if you heard and saw something you would need to keep your mouth shut.  The landlord didn't care as long as he had his money and you didn't make noise he didn't care. He didn't care that a 8 year old was living on his own, he had had his own things to worry for.

He was 9 years old, and completely alone.

School was a mistake. He wanted to try. Just one year. Just to feel like a person again, but kids are crueler when they know you don't have backup.
When they found out he lived alone, the bullying reached a level even he hadn't imagined. Social media rumors. Vandalism. Someone broke into his locker and left a photo of his apartment door with the caption:

‘How does it feel to live like a cockroach’

He dropped out after someone poured soda on his laptop and called it ‘creative writing practice.’
That night, he took every notebook with his name on it and burned them in the kitchen sink.
He untagged every photo of himself online. Deleted old blogs. Closed forums. Made a new email.He stopped existing and the world didn't even blink.

It wasn't a single moment. Not really.

But one day, he stepped out to take the trash downstairs—and looked up. The sky stretched above him, wide and bright and uncaring. Cars passed. People walked by. No one looked at him. He wasn't even there.

The noise spun around him like static. His chest locked up. His knees gave out. He threw up behind the dumpster and crawled back upstairs.

He never opened the door again.

That was the last time he saw the sky.

He doesn't remember when the term *agoraphobia* came into his life. Maybe from a search bar. Maybe from one of those online therapists he ghosted.
But the word stuck.
And it fit.

Fear of the outside.
Fear of spaces too big to hide in.
Fear of being seen.

So he made himself vanish.

And the world moved on, like he was never there.

Chapter Text

The card stays on his desk.

Three days pass before Izuku touches it again.

He doesn't call. He doesn't even think about calling. He just stares at it sometimes — between writing deadlines, between naps, in those long hours when the shadows stretch and there's nothing left but him and his thoughts.

Aizawa hasn't come back. Not yet.

But that doesn't stop Izuku from listening for footsteps in the hallway.

He hates that he's listening.

It's early evening when there's a sound at the door.

Not a knock this time. A soft *thump.*

Izuku freezes.

Not again. He doesn't think he can take another conversation.

He waits. One minute. Two.

Then, with shaking hands, he opens the door just a crack — only wide enough to peek through.

No one's there.

But something small moves near his feet.

Green eyes stare up at him.

It's a kitten.

Tiny. Scruffy. Ginger-furred with white socks. No collar.

It mews softly and curls against his leg like it's decided he belongs to it.

Izuku's breath catches in his throat.

He doesn't open the door wider. Doesn't say anything.

Just... reaches down and pulls it inside.

He tells himself he's just keeping it overnight. Just until it stops raining. Just until whoever left it comes back.

They don't.

So the kitten stays.

He names it Kumo.
Not because it means spider. But because it also means cloud. The little kitty puffball moved around like cloud too. Like something soft, drifting. Something that doesn't quite belong to the sky or the ground.

Kumo doesn't talk, but she doesn't need to.

She follows him everywhere — from the desk to the bed to the bathroom door. She sleeps on his chest like it's her job. She meows when he forgets to eat and scratches the door when she wants to chase sunbeams in the hallway.

Izuku doesn't open the door, but he starts leaving out treats in front of it. She waits by the crack and sniffs under it like she knows someone might be out there.

He starts writing again, for real this time. Not just ghostwriting. His own words.

About fear.
About being alone.
About a boy who disappeared and the stray cat that found him anyway.

A week later, Aizawa comes back.

Izuku knows it's him from the sound of his voice, low and calm:

"Hey. Sorry to bother you again."

Izuku doesn't answer. Kumo meows.
Maybe he’s back to take kumo home? What does he want?

“Just checking in. There's been some movement nearby. Thought I'd see if you were still alive in there."

A pause.

"And I... might've left something behind last time."

Izuku stares at the door like it might open itself. His heart is pounding too fast.

"You don't have to talk. I'll stop bothering you soon. Just wanted you to know someone's paying attention."

Kumo presses her paws against the door.

Izuku reaches out and rests his hand beside hers.

He quickly wrote a note and slide it under the door.
‘Thank you. For the cat.’

There was ruffling of someone picking up the note on the other side.

"...You're welcome."
Another beat of silence came, "What's her name?" Eraser said quietly enough not to startle said homeboy but loud enough to be heard.

For the first time in years, he spoke through the barrier — voice soft, barely audible, rough from the lack of use, "...Kumo."

A low chuckle. Not mocking. Just tired and genuine. "Figures."

Then footsteps again. Leaving.

But Izuku doesn't feel abandoned this time.

He feels... seen.

That night, he moves the curtains a little.

Not all the way. Just an inch.

Just enough for Kumo to sit on the windowsill and watch the world she was born into.

Izuku sits beside her and watches the reflection instead.

And for the first time, the silence in the apartment doesn't feel so heavy.

Chapter Text

Aizawa's knuckles rap sharply against the apartment door once more.

"Midoriya. It's me again."

The hallway is quiet. No footsteps, no voice.

A faint scrape inside — maybe a chair shifting, maybe not.

He sighs softly.

"You don't have to say anything. I just want to know you're still alive. I know it’s weird that I know who you are..”

He said before signing “ your landlord told me”

He presses his palm lightly against the door, but there's no warmth in return.

"I'll keep coming back."

He sets down a small bag with a note taped to the top: "For Kumo — don't let her starve."

And then he walks away.

Later, Aizawa leans back against a wall in the teachers' lounge, tired.

"He won't talk. Won't open the door. Not even to me."

Yamada slides in, coffee in hand, giving Aizawa a look.

"Sounds like you're stuck."

Aizawa shrugs, rubbing his eyes. "I don't know what to do anymore. He's not a kid I can just pull out of this. He's been gone for years."

Yamada nods slowly. "You've got patience, but sometimes that's not enough. You might need backup."

“I'm calling Hound Dog."

The next day, Aizawa met Hound Dog in the counseling office.

Hound Dog reviews the notes: "Izuku Midoriya, age 18. No guardians. From the sounds of this little information he definitely has severe social trauma. Agoraphobia if I may. Depression. No professional help in years or so.

"He's not just hiding from the world," Hound Dog says quietly. "He's disappeared inside himself."

Aizawa folded his arms. "I left him a cat to keep him company. He said 'thank you' once, but that's all I got."

"You can't force a kid like that out. You have to build trust first. Show him it's safe to come back."

Aizawa exhales slowly. "So... keep knocking. Keep showing up."

Hound Dog nods. "And maybe talk to the cat. Sometimes, the smallest connections matter the most."

Yamada pops his head in with a grin. "And bring snacks."

Aizawa groans but can't help the small smile.

That evening, Aizawa returns to the door.

His voice is softer this time.

"Midoriya, it's me. I'm here again. No pressure."

Kumo scrambles to the door, meowing.

"I brought food. Tuna. She likes tuna."

A long pause.

“ I’ll leave it out here for you”

He waited again for any movement. The silence stretched over 10 minutes, there was nothing but Kumo’s meow to respond back.

Shouta wanted to say something else but no words could be formed. He stood up and dusted himself off, sighing he walked away.

Midoriya waited and wait until he heard the man’s steps leave the hallway.

The door creaked, just a crack.

Not enough for a person to step through. But enough to let the outside world in. As quick as a whippet he reached his hand and took the tuna. The heavy door shut behind him. He slumped against the door breathing a little heavy, trying to regulate his breathing.

Kumo bumped her little head against his hand.

At the very end of the hallway Aizawa exhaled. He never left, he stood waiting and hoping something would happen.

He smiled slightly at the hand that darted out for the tuna can and said in an airy laugh
"That's a start."

Chapter Text

Izuku doesn't remember what day it is.

The calendar hasn't moved in months. He forgot to flip it. Or maybe he just didn't want to.

The routine is the same as always: wake up, feed Kumo, write for a few hours, forget to eat, fall asleep to the soft buzz of a world he doesn't live in.

But today, he's waiting for a delivery — extra cat treats, some canned food, and another pack of blackout tape for the windows.

He hears the knock. Then the delivery bag drop.

He exhales. Easy.

He opens the door — just a crack.

But that's all Kumo needs.

She slips past his leg in a blur of orange fur and determination.

"Kumo—!"

Too late.

She trots down the hallway, tail high, heading toward the staircase like it's no big deal at all.

Izuku stares after her, frozen.

The door is still open.

The air feels wrong — like it's too sharp, too big. He grips the doorframe with white-knuckled hands.

His heart is already pounding. Not like anxiety — no, this is *raw fear.*

He tries to breathe. In, out. In—

"She's just a few feet away. You can grab her. Just two minutes. Less."

But his brain is already screaming.

What if someone sees you?
What if the walls collapse?
What if the hallway stretches forever and you can't come back?
What if the air touches your skin and you disappear completely?

He takes a step back into the apartment.

But Kumo turns her head.

She meows.

Not distressed. Not afraid.

Just looking at him like she's waiting.

Like she *expects* him to come.

That single sound cracks something.

Izuku shakes, gasping. The panic hits him like a wave.

"I can't—I can't—I can't—"

But he can't leave her either.

He falls to his knees in the doorway, clutching the frame like it's the only solid thing left.

"It's just a hallway," he whispers to himself. "It's just a hallway. It's just Kumo. Go get her. Go. Please go—"

Another step.

His bare foot hits the cool linoleum outside the apartment for the first time in *six years*.

His vision blurs. The floor sways. He wants to crawl back, to slam the door, to disappear again.

But Kumo lets out another soft meow and starts walking back to him, as if to meet him halfway.

He crouches, arms shaking violently, and scoops her up.

She purrs like nothing's wrong at all.

When he closes the door behind him, he collapses onto the floor, clutching her tight to his chest.

His breathing is shallow. His heart won't slow down. His vision spins.

But he did it.

He left the apartment.

Even just for a moment.

Even if it felt like dying.

Kumo licks his chin gently and curls up against him.

And for the first time in his adult life, Izuku cries.
Not because he's scared.
But because he came back.

Chapter Text

Aizawa doesn't say it out loud, but he counts the days.

It's been 72 hours since the last muffled footstep behind that door.
42 hours since he last heard Kumo meow when he knocked.
10 hours since Yamada started texting him things like:

"Maybe he needs a new kind of help."
"What if he doesn't come back this time?”

And 5 hours since they agreed to try together.

They show up mid-morning, quiet in the hallway.

Yamada's hair is tied back. His usual energy dialed to quiet. Aizawa's arms are crossed, but not with anger — just exhaustion.

Aizawa knocks.

"Midoriya. It's us."

Silence.

"We brought something for Kumo. And a new heater. Thought the place might be cold."

Yamada steps forward. His voice is softer than usual. "I made banana bread. You don't have to eat it, but it smells really good. Kumo might like the crust."

Still, silence.

Then — click.

The sound of a lock turning.

Not all the way. Just once.

And then the door opens just a crack.

Enough to slide something out.

A small, soft shape darts forward, then sits obediently between the two men.

Kumo.

Wrapped in a knit blanket, a note tied to her collar.

Then the door closes again. Click. Click. Locked.

Aizawa bends down immediately, picking up the cat and gently untying the folded paper.

Yamada's eyes are already wet from the minimal interaction.

The handwriting is a little shaky. Neat but hesitant. Written in green pen.

‘I can't take care of her anymore.’
I don't think I can take care of anything right now’
‘Please stop coming. You're wasting your time’
‘Thank you’

Izuku

Aizawa doesn't say anything for a long moment. He just stares at the paper, slightly crinkling the paper Yamada wipes his face quickly with his sleeve.

“He thinks he's a burden."

Aizawa nods, jaw tight.

"And he thinks this is protecting her doesn’t he?”
Aizawa nods again.
He holds Kumo gently, her warm little body curling into his scarf, unaware she's become a lifeline passed back and forth.

“We're not giving up. Not like this.” He muttered and said to the shut locked door, “ we’ll be here until you’re ready, we’re not giving up, ok kid?” He knew he wouldn’t get a response but still he had to let him know.

Yamada bit his lip, walking behind Aizawa,heart heavy and torn to the wanting to camp out outside the door and go home to re-strategise.

The next day, Aizawa and Yamada return. They found kumo’s toys outside the door in a small pile. They took Kumo's toys the door with sadness exuding their hearts.

They left one of kumo’s toys and slipped a couple printed photos of her sleeping soundly in Yamada's lap, with a speech bubble drawn in saying:

"She misses you."
There's a second note, this time from Aizawa:

"She's yours. We're just cat-sitting. Don't make this a permanent arrangement."

Still no response. But the next day, the toy was gone.

They return the day after with updates:

" Kumo knocked over the milk. Twice."
"She's taking over my futon. I think I sleep on the floor now."
"Yamada knitted her a tiny sweater. It's terrible. I'm bringing a picture."

More silence.

This routine continues for the next 4 days but on the 5th day of their daily check in, a note appeared from under the door:

‘Don't let her eat chocolate. It's bad for cats.’

Yamada nearly bursts into tears.

Aizawa doesn't smile.

But his shoulders relax.

"Good. That means we're not done."

-Later that night -

Aizawa crouches outside the door that night, the hallway silent around him.

He doesn't knock.

Just leans back against the opposite wall, arms folded.

"You're allowed to fall apart, Midoriya. Hell, I've done it more times than I'll ever admit."

He looks at the door like it might somehow listen.

"But you're not allowed to give up."

A pause.

"We're still here. Even if you don't want us to be."

The hallway is quiet.

Chapter Text

Izuku doesn't sleep that night.

Kumo curls into his side, warm and calm, but he's wide awake — chest tight, stomach sick. The apartment feels smaller somehow. Or maybe he feels smaller.

He stares at his laptop, fingers poised over the keyboard, then starts typing

Untitled — Journal Entry (Not to be submitted)

‘I left the apartment today.
I didn't want to.
I think part of me died the second my foot hit the hallway floor. It felt like I cracked in half. Like the walls inside me weren't holding together anymore.
I got Kumo back. She was fine. I wasn't.
I can't stop shaking. Not on the outside, just... underneath everything. Like the foundation of me is wrong.
I think that moment ruined me more than it helped me.
I wish I could disappear again.’

He saves it in a folder no one sees. He doesn't even title the document. He just.. hides it.

By the next morning, the light hurts his eyes. He tapes over the last gap in the blackout curtain. He ignores his breakfast. Ignores Kumo's toy batting at his feet.

His heart feels like a weight again. Heavy, unmoving.

He doesn't answer the door when Aizawa knocks. Not even once.

Aizawa stares at the door, arms crossed. He's been coming every other day now — sometimes with food, sometimes with updates about villain activity, sometimes just to be there.

But now something's... off.

"Midoriya? I'm here."

No shuffle of feet. No quiet sound. Not even the soft sounds of someone breathing behind the door.

He waits.

Leaves the usual package — food for Kumo, a note — and walks away slower than usual.

Three visits later, and still no response.

The bag of food is always gone. But there's no acknowledgment. No sign of movement. The cat doesn't even come to the door anymore.

Aizawa returns to the teacher's lounge that night, jaw tight, scarf wrapped tight around his neck like armor.

Yamada glances up from grading. "Still nothing?"

"Worse than nothing," Aizawa mutters. "I think he shut down again."

Yamada frowns. "You think he went backward?"

"No. I know he did."

He leans forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"He opened the door once. Something scared him. And now he's deeper in than before."

Izuku doesn't write for his clients that week.

He turns down offers, one by one. Shuts off notifications. Turns off the phone entirely.

He doesn't even try to clean anymore. The plates stay stacked in the sink. Kumo's litter box goes a little too long before he notices.

He lies on the floor, listening to the outside world thrum quietly against the walls, and imagines what it would feel like to not exist at all.

Kumo curls against his chest and purrs.

He cries without making a sound.

By the end of the week, Aizawa's had enough.

He knocks. Waits.

Then speaks clearly:

"Midoriya. I know something happened. I don't know what, but I can feel it."

He crouches low, voice softening.

"I saw the tape over the window. I noticed you stopped responding. I noticed... you're scared again."

Silence.

A sigh.

"That means we start over. And that's okay. I'm still here."
“ okay”

He waited again, hoping anything was said even if it was being told to go away. He just wanted to hear something from the boy.

He leaves behind a new package — a soft fleece blanket and a bag of pastries Yamada insisted were ‘comfort food’

As he walks away, he adds, under his breath

"I’ll be back soon…. ok”

Chapter Text

It had been thirty-nine days since Izuku last spoke a word to anyone.

Thirty-two since he last responded in any form.

Fifteen since he last ordered groceries.

Aizawa kept count. Not because he wanted to — but because he had to because every number felt like a quiet countdown.

Yamada still knocked every third day, leaving soft-voiced jokes, pastries, sometimes nothing at all.

Aizawa had stopped speaking during visits. He just sat outside the door with Kumo and listened.
Listened to the nothing.

Sometimes they both sat in the hallway in silence for hours, waiting for a sign. Just one.

But the food outside remained untouched.

And every time Aizawa looked at that door now, he saw something else behind it:

Grief.

Aizawa snapped at a first-year during a sparring demonstration — something completely unlike him.
Yamada forgot two morning announcements in one week — the students noticed, murmured. He laughed it off. But his voice cracked.

And someone noticed.

Principal Nezu watched from his office, paw pressed to his chin as he reviewed the recent pattern of missed work, mismatched reports, low energy.

He called them both in without warning.

They arrived together, silent, drained.

Nezu's bright, curious voice was gentle.

"I don't ask this often, but... are you two alright?"

Aizawa's jaw clenched.

Yamada didn't answer.

Nezu folded his paws and nodded to himself.

"It's Midoriya, isn't it?"

They exchanged a glance. Neither said anything. They didn't have to.

"You've both spent weeks trying to carry him out of a cave that collapsed years ago," Nezu said, tone now firmer. "But from what I've gathered, the cave is deeper than you realized. And now you're starting to lose air."

-Back at the apartment-

Izuku hadn't moved from the corner in hours. Not because he didn't want to — because his body felt too heavy to obey.

Kumo had gone quiet during their visits , sensing something wrong. She laid beside outside their door, her tiny body pressed agains the cold hardwood , like maybe if she stayed close enough, she could phase through and be back in his grasp.

Izuku counted crackers. He'd split his last sleeve into eight. He chewed one slowly. Dry. Saltless. Meaningless. The air felt stale. His limbs, paper-thin. His thoughts — dull and frayed. Even writing had stopped. Words tasted wrong in his mouth, and his fingers shook too much.

‘Maybe this is it’ he thought ‘ maybe it’s time’
and somehow, that felt like relief to him.

Two nights later, the hallway echoed with quiet footsteps.

Aizawa.
Yamada.
And now Nezu.

Nezu looked at the apartment door for a long time before speaking.

"Izuku Midoriya. I am the principal of U.A. High School."

No answer. Of course.

"You don't know me well. But I've known of you since the day your name was first whispered among recommendation files. You were bright, even when you didn't believe it."

He paused.

"What you are now is not failure. It's injury. You are hurt, not broken. And we are not giving up."

Still nothing.

Yamada looked like he wanted to cry again.

Aizawa stepped forward.

"You stopped ordering food, kid."

A silence.

Then a shuffle. Faint. From inside.

Nezu glanced between them.

"If we don't act now, we'll lose him."

It wasn’t until the trio had been long gone, the darkness blanketed the sky and the night critters came to roam the streets.

A note was slid out — but it was different this time.

Not folded neatly. Crumpled. Jagged at the edges. Written in shaky, faint strokes of green.

‘I don't know what's wrong with me.’
‘I can't think straight. I can't move. I think I'm dying but I'm too tired to care.’
‘I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.’
‘Please... just let me disappear.’

It wasn’t until 1pm when they came back to the apartment. They saw the note.

Yamada dropped to his knees.

Aizawa stood frozen, hands clenched into fists.

Nezu picked up the note, holding it gently like something fragile.

"We're out of time.

He turned to Aizawa.

"We go in. Today."

Chapter Text

They arrived early, keycard granted by quiet legal strings Nezu pulled with little effort but a heavy heart.

Aizawa stood with a crowbar, though he didn't need to use it. The lock gave way easily — like the door was used to surrendering.

The apartment creaked open with the sound of time lost

Dust flooded their nostrils immediately. The air was thick. Cold. Still. Like the walls themselves had forgotten what warmth felt like.

They stepped inside and froze.

Nothing had moved.
Plates were still in the sink.
The same unopened delivery bag sat at the foot of the fridge.
Kumo's toy lay untouched.
Even the clock on the wall had stopped battery long dead.

Yamada swallowed hard, already pale.

"This place is a mausoleum..."

Aizawa didn't speak. He moved like he was in a graveyard.

Nezu's small feet padded across the wooden floor, nose twitching once... then again.

"He's here," he whispered. "There's life upstairs."

Yamada and Aizawa split off quietly, checking every room, every corner for movement. For sound. Anything.

But everything was still.

Downstairs, it felt like walking through a memory that had been rotting for years.
Dust thick on the desk.
A notebook left open on an unfinished sentence.
A chair still positioned like someone had just stood up... years ago.

No heat. No music. No signs of life but the faintest smell of human scent.

Meanwhile, Nezu crept up the narrow staircase, nose twitching faster now.

"Locked," he muttered. "More than locked."

He reached a door at the end of the hallway — the only one with four separate bolts, each scratched and worn from overuse.

He pressed his ear gently to the frame.
Breath.
Shallow. Weak.
But there.

"Midoriya?"

Silence.
"Izuku.."

He tried again.

More silence.

Nezu sat down. Crossed his paws in his lap. And waited.

"You've spent years trying to disappear," Nezu said softly, voice barely louder than the creak of the walls. "And you've done a very good job."

A breath behind the door. Barely audible. But real.

"You didn't vanish because you were weak. You vanished because the world failed you. And when no one came... you assumed that meant you weren't worth saving."

Silence.

"But people did come. Aizawa. Yamada. They came again and again — because you're not forgotten. You're not invisible."

He leaned forward.

"You're not a ghost, Midoriya. You're a boy. A boy who's been drowning in silence."

For a long moment, nothing.

Then the faintest sound:
Click.

A lock. One of them.

Then another.
And another.
And the final one — painfully slow, like his hand shook.

The door opened just a sliver.

Then wider.

He looked like a shadow of a person

Bony wrists. Hollow cheeks. Oversized hoodie hanging from him like it belonged to someone else.

Eyes dull, but alive — pale green, like washed-out sea glass.

Bare feet. Silent steps.

You couldn't hear him move unless you really, really listened.

Nezu stood slowly, not approaching, not pushing.

Izuku stepped forward on trembling legs, each step shaky like he hadn't walked more than five feet in weeks.

Nezu reached up slowly but surely beckoning him forward, his hand...

His hand slowly reached down.

And he held Nezu's tiny paw in his own.

Sweaty. Thin. Fragile.

"I... I didn't know if anyone would still come..."
“…I’m sorry”
His voice cracked, barely a whisper. Like it had forgotten how to make sound.

Nezu looked up at him with a small, quiet smile.

"We never left."

They toddled forward at a snails pace and reached the stairs.

Downstairs, Aizawa looked up when he heard the floorboards creak.

Yamada turned the corner just as Izuku appeared at the top of the stairs — guided by Nezu's hand, holding the wall for balance.

A moment of stunned silence.

Then Yamada let out a breathless sound that might've been a sob.

Izuku flinched — just slightly — but didn't turn away.

He looked down at them, not speaking, not moving fast.

Just *present.*

Still here.

Aizawa took a slow step forward, hands relaxed.

"You don't have to do anything else right now," he said, voice soft. "Just... come with us. Let us help now."

Izuku nodded once. It was small. But it was real.

And it was enough.

Chapter Text

The apartment door was still open.

The stairs had been slow, but Izuku had made it down them — one trembling foot at a time, guided gently by Nezu's quiet encouragement and the light weight of Kumo curled inside the sling bag he clutched like a lifeline.

But now...
Now they stood at the threshold.

The front door.

The world outside bled in through the frame — too loud, too wide, too bright.
Izuku shrank back instinctively.

"It's too much," he rasped, barely audible.

Yamada stepped back, giving space. Aizawa stood nearby but didn't crowd him. Nezu moved forward and offered his paw again.

"I know," Nezu said gently. "That's why we're not asking you to run. Just walk. Just this once. One step."

Izuku's fingers tightened around the strap of Kumo's sling that Shouta had brought along . He couldn't stop shaking. The air on his face was wrong. It felt too open, like something could reach in and take him.

His breath hitched — too fast. His chest tightening.

"I can't... what if someone sees... what if I can't breathe out there—what if I fall or black out and—"

"Then we'll catch you," Aizawa said simply.

Izuku's eyes flicked to him. And for a moment, something flickered — disbelief, maybe. Maybe hope.

Kumo mewed quietly. The sound cut through the noise in his head. Small. Normal. Familiar.

Izuku took a step forward and he was knocked out of breath, his vision blurred by the sudden brightness of light, the buzzing in his ear increased by 10 folds.

Then another step.

His mind was racing 100mph, he felt like his heart was in his throat then it all went silent.

It was barely a walk. More like a crawl trapped in a standing body. His knees nearly buckled halfway, and Yamada almost rushed forward, but Nezu held a paw out to stop him.

"He's doing it."

Izuku stumbled once, breath ragged, vision threatening to white out — but then...

The curb.

The car.

The door was already open.

He doesn't know how he got here. He doesn't remember when it happened. He doesn't know how long he took to move from his safe cave to the open air. He just doesn't know.

Nezu climbed in first. Kumo's soft paw pressed against his side. Izuku's hand trembled as it touched the edge of the seat.

He climbed in, collapsed into the back seat, and as the door shut behind him—

They sat in silence, wait for Izuku to come back to his body, patiently waiting and watching the boy.

"Just... just the car," he whispered to himself.

Silence.

A soft, contained silence.

His chest finally expanded.

He could breathe.

Confined. Enclosed. Safe.

His head hit the window, damp curls stuck to his forehead. He let out a slow, rasping breath. The panic hadn't gone — not fully — but it had receded.

Nezu leaned into his side, warm and patient. Kumo curled into his lap without hesitation, a soft rumble of purring anchoring him.

And in that tiny back seat, surrounded by quiet warmth and no judgement, Izuku Midoriya closed his eyes — just for a moment — and whispered:

"I did it."

And no one corrected him.

Because he had.

Chapter Text

The drive was slow, light music from the radio playing smooth jazz echoed. The trio had a quiet conversation whilst Izuku kept his head down and let his mind wander, he was fighting the voices and had to stop himself from shouting.

Biting his lip he ducked his head down even further, trying to shield himself from the outside world. Any sudden noise made him flinch, he squirmed and they drove further and further away from the apartment.

He doesn't know when he let go of his mind again, it just happened. One moment he was cramped in the car trying to fold himself like origami and then next he was at the front door of a house? An apartment maybe.

Shuffling into the room trailing behind the two tall hero's, he chose to stick close to the wall, knees still weak and body still trembling. Nezu watched carefully, never too far from the boy and held on his dangling sweater paw.

The room was warm.

Too warm.

Izuku was pressed up against the wall, looking as though he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His eyes scanned the walls painted soft gray, trimmed with natural wood. A simple bed with fresh sheets. Books stacked neatly. A small desk. Two windows.

Not too bright. Not too big.

He hadn't said a word since they left the car.

Nezu had quietly shown him to the guest quarters in the U.A. staff wing far from the dorms, tucked in a quiet corner meant for overflow teachers or late-night emergencies. This was going to be his new room.

The shift from the sparse living area to the bedroom was long but they remained patient with Izuku. They knew today was already a big step form and forcing him to do more would only break him.

They encouraged his wall shuffles and paused when he needed rest.

Yamada really wanted to pick the boy up and carry him, shouta had a similar idea to turn him into a blanket burrito. It took everything in them not to.

But they knew, had to do this by himself.

One step at a time.

It was decided not to use the stairs for him but to use the bedroom downstairs. Making him climb stairs would be cruel.

It didn't feel like a trap.
But it also didn't feel like his house.

Once they got into the room, izuku was on the verge of collapsing, they quickly but gently ushered him to the bed.
Yamada stood in the doorway, voice low.

"You don't have to do anything right now . Just sit. Or sleep. Or do nothing."

Izuku didn't respond. Just stared down at his feet, he he felt if he moved anymore he’d throw up. The walls, the window, the ceiling, it was all staring at him like strangers.

Aizawa moved past him, set a folded hoodie on the bed — clean, his size, plain green and of course Kumo sauntered along stretching her self before curling up on the hoodie.

"We'll bring dinner. You don't have to come out if you don’t want to ."

Still nothing.

They trip looked at each other before turning to Izuku once more.

“ we’re so proud of you kid, you did good”

Izuku flinched at the praise, still keeping his head lowered, his bottom lip quivered slightly.

They left the room without saying much more. They knew he needed time to process and crowding him wouldn’t help.

That night, Izuku sat on the bed for hours, untouched food beside him, Kumo curled into his side.

Tears welled up in his eyes, trickling down the side of his face, he curled up at the farthest corner of the bed.

He hadn’t slept on a proper bed in so long, he couldn’t stop thinking.

he didn't sleep, he was just so lost in thought.

“ I did it” he breathed out.

It was a start, he came over the biggest wall he could face and that right now was enough.

Chapter Text

The next two days remained the same as the first, one sided answer, quiet hums, food untouched but water drank to halfway all while remaining in the room.

On day three though...

He ate.

Not much. Just a few spoonfuls. Cold by the time he touched it.

Yamada noticed from the tray when he came to switch it out and said nothing — just smiled wide, warm.

"Progress," he whispered, too softly for anyone but Aizawa to hear.

By day Five  we moved even a little bit closer to the path of healing.

Aizawa knocked and left a book outside the door.
'Creature of habit: an animals sanctuary.'

Izuku didn't open it right away.

But he moved it onto his nightstand.

days came and had gone and we was in the fresh day 8.

He cracked the window.
Just a little.

The sun didn't burn him. The wind didn't scream.
And when it got too much, he closed it again — but he didn't panic.
Nezu stopped by with tea and a notepad.

"Not for school. Just... for your thoughts."

Izuku took it wordlessly.

The next morning, a single sentence had been scribbled across the first page:

'It's too quiet, but not as scary as it used to be.'

Sometimes Izuku would wake to the soft hum of a radio in the hall — Yamada's way of saying "I'm here" without pushing.

Other times, Aizawa would be waiting in the corridor with a mug of coffee. He never forced conversation. Just sat beside Izuku when the boy finally wandered out in his oversized hoodie and sat against the wall.

Kumo was always between them. Sometimes purring. Sometimes asleep.

Nezu checked in twice a day too. It had become apart of his usual busy routine.

He didn't ask for reports. He asked 'how Izuku felt' Whether the walls felt smaller. Whether food felt real. Whether the nightmares had stopped (they hadn't, but he appreciated that Nezu asked without expecting good news).

There were no 'milestones' per se but...

Just glances.

Smaller flinches.

Slightly longer eye contact.

They were moving forward.

One time, Izuku let Yamada put a hand gently on his shoulder for half a second — and he didn't recoil.

Weeks later, Izuku sat at the kitchen table. Still too thin, still quiet — but there.

He'd started showering again. He wore clothes that fit his frame the way he wanted them to.

He helped wash dishes after dinner once.

Even joined a walk around the building perimeter one morning, it was amazing, Izuku walked straight outside with light a prompt, it was only after 2 minutes that he realised he was outside. His breath picked a little until and he took a step back wanting to retreat back only to accidentally bumped into a sturdy firm body.

He looked up to see Aizawa towering down at him.
“ do you need a minute” they waited.

Izuku took in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second and found himself being grounded. The rumbling purr from Kumo brought him back to the present, Nezu’s calm heartbeat made him remember where he was.

“ no… I’m fine sorry” he stuttered out. He took a couple hesitated steps

Nezu said “no need to be sorry” he said softly.
he was tucked in Izuku’s hoodie whilst Kumo in occupied his arms.

The trudged slowly around the perimeter making small talk here and there, each chiming in to add to their conversation.

The silence stretched yet again.

"Feels like we adopted a ghost," Yamada joked, ruffling Izuku's curls gently.

Izuku snorted.

It was the first sound that resembled laughter.

Aizawa didn't smile, but he did raise a brow and lean back slightly, the closest he got to pride.

That night, Izuku opened the window fully.

He sat by it for hours, knees pulled to his chest, Kumo curled by his side.

The breeze moved his hair.
The stars blinked.
And for once, he didn't shrink back from the world.

He breathed in.

And didn't choke on the air.

Chapter Text

The light from the U.A. staff common room was golden. Cozy.

Izuku sat cross-legged on the couch, dressed in a hoodie that actually fit, Kumo curled in his lap and purring like a little motor. Nezu sat on a pillow beside him, sipping tea from a custom-sized mug with cartoon cheese on it. Yamada was sprawled out upside-down on the opposite sofa, legs over the top, while Aizawa leaned against the wall, arms folded, barely awake but listening.

It had become a tradition.

Saturday nights. No expectations. No check-ins. Just warm drinks, quiet presence, and the option to speak... or not.

But tonight, there was something in the air. A quiet buzz.
Like they all knew they'd reached somewhere new.

Nezu looked over his mug.

"Izuku," he said gently, "we were wondering something."

Izuku blinked. His fingers still idly scratched behind Kumo's ears.

"We've never asked you what you want to do," Nezu continued. "Not what you should do. Not what we want. What you want."

There was no pressure in the question. But it still made Izuku go still.

A pause.

Then he said, softly:

"You're... not gonna ask me to go back to school?"

Yamada sat up properly. "Only if you want to. You've already made it farther than most people would've. You're alive. You're trying. That's already enough."

Izuku looked down at his cat, his fingers tightening slightly.

"I don't... want to be a hero," he admitted. "I don't want to fight. I don't think I ever did, really. I don’t think… I want to be seen outside by so many people. The thought of people relaying on me, waiting on me, what I don’t make it on time what if..”

He started off, they could tell his brain was about to go on overdrive with thoughts of what ifs

Aizawa nodded slowly, no surprise in his face.

“That's not a failure, Izuku. That's a decision."

He let that settle.

Then almost nervously — Izuku continued:

"I want to keep writing. My stories. My characters. I already do it, but no one really knew it was me..."

Nezu tilted his head.

"You publish?"

Izuku nodded once. His face flushed a little, embarrassed.

"Online. Under a pseudonym."

Yamada perked up. "No way! What's the name?"

Izuku hesitated, tugged his sleeve down over his knuckles, then finally whispered it:

"HollowHaze."

A beat.

And then Yamada choked on his tea.

"You're HollowHaze?! The HollowHaze? I've read your whole Echoes of Dust series! I thought you were like, some reclusive 40-year-old!"

Aizawa raised a brow. "You made him speechless. Impressive."

Izuku flushed deeper, ducking his head.

"I... I didn't think anyone would actually know."

Nezu's voice was soft and proud:

“Of course we do. And now we know you. And we're honored."

Izuku bit the inside of his cheek.

He couldn't remember the last time someone talked about his interests like they mattered.

Not as a distraction.

Not as a delusion.

But as something worth knowing.

He looked up slowly, at the three of them — each of them wildly different, but here, always here,never pushing, just staying.

He whispered:

"Thank you... for caring. Even when I didn't think I deserved it."

Aizawa walked over then, slow and unhurried. He crouched beside the couch and placed a hand on Izuku's shoulder — grounding, steady, warm.

"We don't care because you earned it," he said. "We care because you exist. And that's enough."

Izuku closed his eyes.

And for once, the weight on his chest didn't feel like it would crush him.

It felt... manageable.

It felt like breathing.

Chapter Text

Izuku jolted awake, breath caught in his throat.

The walls were too close. His chest too tight. The air was thick and heavy, as if he'd slipped back into that apartment into that year, that hour, that second.

He clawed at his hoodie, curling in on himself as memories slammed into him like glass shards.

His mother's face, pale and still.

His father's cold voice:

"You're on your own now. I've given you enough."*

His classmates whispering, laughing:

"No mom. No quirk. No future."*

A locker door slamming.
A notebook burned.
His name scratched out.

Again and again and again.

He couldn't breathe.

He found himself in the kitchen before he even realized he'd moved. The lights were too bright, the floor too cold.

He sat.

And unraveled.

Aizawa was the first to find him.

No questions. Just the soft clink of a second mug being placed on the table.

Then Yamada, rubbing his eyes and yawning, still in pyjama pants with a ridiculous cartoon flamingo splattered around. Nezu was perched on his lanky shoulder, quiet and small, but watchful dressed in his little robe and slippers

They sat with him in the stillness. Until Izuku finally whispered:

"It's happening again."

A pause.

“ I’m falling back..”

Then a silence followed.

"The dreams. The panic. I feel like I'm back in that place."

Aizawa's voice was steady. "You're not."

Izuku shook his head, hugging his arms close. "But it feels like it. And I—I haven't told you everything. I didn't mean to keep it in, I just..."

Nezu, who had hopped down from Yamada’s shoulder and onto a seat close to the counter, gently set down his mug. "You don't have to tell us everything."

"I want to," Izuku whispered. "You deserve to know why I ended up that way."

A long silence.

Then the words started to pour — broken, uneven, but real

"They bullied me because I was quirkless. But it wasn't just that. It was because my mom died, too. I was nine and kids said awful things. Said I was cursed. Said maybe I deserved to be alone."

His fists clenched. "One time, a teacher told me to just stop drawing attention to myself. Like it was my fault."

Yamada looked horrified. Aizawa's jaw tightened.

"I tried to keep going. I really did. But then my dad came back. He didn't want me — he just didn't want the legal trouble. He paid for the apartment and disappeared. I didn't even see his face after the first day."

His voice cracked.

"He didn't check on me. Not once. Not when the lights shut off. Not when I had to stretch ramen for a week. Not even when my stomach hurt so bad I thought I was dying."

Izuku pressed his sleeve to his eyes, trembling.

"I started pretending I didn't exist. I stopped answering the door. I didn't go outside. I erased everything. Like... if the world forgot me, it wouldn't hurt as much."

He looked up, finally, eyes red and raw.

"That's who I was when you found me. Not just scared. Not just anxious. I was gone. I didn't think there was anything left to save."

The silence was thick. Not empty but heavy with meaning.

Yamada reached over and placed a hand on Izuku's.

"You were always worth saving, kid."

Nezu's voice was soft:

" I am so, so sorry you were failed like that. But I'm proud truly proud that despite it all, you're here now."

Izuku blinked back more tears.

Then turned to Aizawa. "You... never asked about my quirk."

Aizawa nodded slowly. "Because it didn't matter."

Izuku's breath hitched.

Then a whisper:

"You really mean that?"

"Yes," all three of them said in unison.

For the first time in his life, Izuku believed it.

Weeks later, he stood at the edge of his old apartment, a garbage bag in one hand and Kumo in a carrier beside him.

He pushed the heavy wooden door one last time. Heart thumping heavy in his chest as though it was trying to escape his rib cage.

Walking in made him feel all the emotions he once covered up attack him, he remembered everything as he stepped carefully in. From the time he slept under the kitchen table, or when he used plastic bags to shield the room of light before he could afire the blackout curtains.

He remembered how he suffered in silence, how he was simply trying not not to exist anymore. He remembered the times he’s try scavenge the cupboards for food without make too much noise, he remembered going back to his bolted door moving boxes of things away from the door, only to place them back once he was in his sanctuary. If the walls could talk.

The air inside was cold, stale like a room that hadn't known laughter in years. It was desolate and layered with dusts in some areas. Unkept, untouched.

He didn't cry.

Instead, he let Aizawa help pack away the books. Yamada hummed softly while folding the worn blanket on the futon. Nezu made a soft noise of approval as Izuku quietly lifted a single photo frame an old picture of his mother, tucked into the corner of his desk.

They left the rest.

They walked back into the light.

Izuku didn't look back.

A new weight was lifted off his shoulders.

Later, at the Yamazawa household, he sat in a sunny room.

It was his now. A shelf held his favorite books. A corkboard with his stories-in-progress. A little plaque from Nezu that read, "Author of Hope."

Kumo lay asleep in a sunbeam.

Yamada played music from the other room.

Aizawa napped on the couch.

Nezu worked on a crossword.

And Izuku?

He wrote.

"My name is Izuku Midoriya. I was once afraid of the world. But now I am learning. I am growing. And I am loved."

He set down his pen, stretched, and looked around.

And smiled.

Because finally, he was free.

He was home

Fin