A Grey Thin Line

6

The cityscape surrounds him, yet he‘s left alone under a light-polluted sky. There’s no moon tonight, no clouds either, just a blank black slate where there should be stars.

Izuku stares out at the skyline, tracing it with his eyes. His breathing is still shaky. He growls a sigh while trembling hands clutch at the worn batman hoodie Kuroda lent him.

“My name is Midoriya Izuku.” He mutters, “I’m in class 1-A. I’m Quirkless. My friends are Uraraka, Shinsou, Iida, Todoroki, Daisy, Kuroda and Dabi. Mom’s okay, she’s in bed, I checked before I came up here. She’s okay. She’s not—“ laying on the carpet floor in a pool of blood, waiting for Izuku to come home and find her. “It was just a dream.” The fear it carves into him is very, very real.

He continues to trace the skyline.

Time is an abstract concept at the moment, but he knows it’s been a while when he spots an incoming figure.

Eraserhead’s demeanor is still pretty much the same as it is in the classroom: straight to the point and no room for nonsense. “You should be asleep.”

Izuku snorts, looking away from his teacher. “According to other people, I should be a lot of things.” Like useless, and weak. Oh, can’t forget about worthless, though one could argue useless means the same thing.

Eraserhead sighs — he tends to do that whenever Izuku’s around — and looks around before taking a seat five feet from Izuku. “So, what was it?”

Izuku‘s already refocused on the fascinating pattern streetlights made, he has to mentally insert himself back into the conversation. “Hm?”

“The nightmare, what was it?”

Izuku scowls. “Who says it was a nightmare?” He demands, “Even if it was, why would I tell you?”

“Kid,” He’s already breaking out the ‘don’t pull this shit’ tone, joy. “you do not want to play this game right now.”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I’ve dedicated myself to the goal of making your life harder.”

“Midoriya.”

Izuku bites the inside of his cheek, already regretting what he’s about to say. “It was my mom, okay? Every time I close my eyes, there’s a fifty-fifty chance I see her bleeding out on the floor.” And if his brain really wants to screw him over, Kuroda’s there, too, with his mangled arm and dead, accusing eyes.

Eraserhead doesn’t day anything for a while. He just sits there next to Izuku, staring out  at the skyline with him. Izuku almost laughs at the sight they must make, a couple of jackasses up on a roof.

“You’ll think it’s rich, coming from me, but it helps to talk about it.”

He’ll probably take offense if Izuku comments on how he’s starting to sound like Kuroda. Instead, he shakes his head, “I have people. I’m handling it.”

“You’re up here at,” He checks his phone, “two-thirty in the morning. It’s not handled.”

Why is it that every time Izuku talks to his teacher, he ends up being judged? He doesn’t even have a response to that because it’s true. It’s true and Izuku wants to be angry but he can’t, all he is is tired. “Look, we’ve done this song and dance before, let’s just skip the part where we have a heart-to-heart and get to the point where you tell me to fuck off and go the hell to sleep?”

“Language.” Eraserhead ignores how Izuku snorts at that. “First off, I’m not going to dismiss what’s going on with you. If I’ve given you that impression, then I’m obviously doing something wrong — as a teacher and as a hero.”