Visiting Memories

Midoriya made himself small in the loud, bright room of boisterous third-year middle schoolers. A bit impatiently, he waited for the teacher to walk into the classroom; at least then the possibility of being bullied lessened. He didn't look up until the room fell unnaturally silent. Even Bakugou, who in every memory of his was as obstreperous as a howler monkey, did not release a single noise.

Midoriya looked up.

A towering man with fluffy white hair, one that definitely wasn't their teacher, stood in the doorway. Each student was as quiet as a mouse as their eyes tracked the figure shifting into the room— because he wasn't really walking. Flowing seemed more appropriate, as each of his movements was smooth and controlled. The more Midoriya thought, the more the man seemed displaced, like a lion in a room full of meerkats. A headache developed between his temples, a gentle pressure that crescendoed the more he stared at the man. Izuku thought he saw a few of his classmates collapse from their seats, but he couldn't take his eyes off the one commanding attention.

He smiled at them, and it was a foul, misplaced thing. "Good morning, class," he greeted; his voice slithered into Izuku's ears, dripping with poison disguised as honey. Their gazes locked, and tunnel vision ensued; Izuku couldn't break away from the hypnotic stare of those viridian green eyes— ones he saw in the mirror every day. Distantly, he recalled old family photos his mother had hidden away. "I'm afraid your teacher won't be attending today." The man, as large and imposing as he appeared, effortlessly slipped through the columns of seats towards Izuku. His father reached for him.

Izuku couldn't move.

"But let's get started on our lesson today— shall we?"