If he's anything like me - BakuDeku

Cereal

Izuku sat up like a zombie rising from the dead. His arms and legs felt like lead underwater, and he could barely trudge through the mountains of blankets and stuffed animals pinning him to the bed. He was exhausted, more than he'd ever been before. Probably because he hadn't taken his medicine in a while. But also, the lingering energy he had felt in the dream was tingling on his skin, sucking the life out of him.

He remembered the dream in snippets, flashes of information that didn't belong to him. He was borrowing memories that belonged to another version of himself, memories that he really did not want to have.

Izuku slunk out of his bed and dragged himself to the bathroom, trying and failing to scrub the after-effects of a sleepless night off his face. The mirror was foggy, probably from Inko's morning routine, but Izuku could still see himself. Not that he really wanted to. The bags under his eyes were a dark reddish purple, and his face looked too pale to be his own. He looked skinnier than he did when he first arrived in this reality two weeks ago. Scrawnier. Like months– years– of hard work and training had gone to waste.

Izuku flicked the bathroom light off as he exited. He stared at the stairs that led down into the living room, scowling with the power of a thousand suns. Goddamn stairs. He'd probably collapse from exhaustion if he tried to go down them right now, but he couldn't go back to his room and sleep after learning the cause of the reality switch.

So he compromised. He sat at the top of the stairs, resting his arms on his knees and his face on his arms. His mind was fuzzy and his throat was dry and his stomach was empty. He knew he should go downstairs. A bowl of Frosted Flakes would be fantastic. But Izuku wasn't gonna risk falling down the fucking stairs. And anyways, he was busy eavesdropping on the heated conversation happening in the kitchen.

"I don't care what kind of important hero business you had going on!" Inko cried. "They are children. Izuku is my child. What if something had gone wrong? What if my boy didn't come home? Can you even comprehend the damage that would do to me as his mother?"

"Ms. Midoriya, I can assure you, I'm more than qualified to take care of two measly children–"

"All Might, I'm only going to say this once," Inko hissed, jabbing his chest with her index finger. Her scowl was powerful, forcing a tidal wave of guilt to rush over the hero's mind. "I respect you as a hero. I'm grateful for everything you've done for our society. But you cannot act like you have everything under control! You are not God. There was a chance, last night, that my boy wouldn't make it home because of your ignorance and impulsiveness. No matter how slim that chance may be, as long as he lives under my roof, I will never risk it. Ever. Do I make myself clear?"

All Might swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes ma'am."

"I don't want him training with you anymore," Inko added. "Not until you've pulled yourself together."

"But Ms. Midoriya–"

"No, I've made my decision. I don't want to hear it. You're lucky I stopped Mitsuki from tearing you to shreds."

"You stupid himbo! I'd fucking rip your tonsils out if it weren't for my damn husband!"

"Mitsuki, honey, please calm down," Masaru said, his voice shaky and quiet. "He's the number one hero. You can't pick a fight with the number one hero."

"He's right," All Might said. "I've done so much good for the people. How could you possibly harbor so much hate for me? I want nothing more than to train young Midoriya to be as great as me and live up to my name. No offense, Ms. Midoriya, but you can't baby him forever."

"Just because I'm not risking his life doesn't mean I'm babying him," Inko scoffed. "I've lost enough in my lifetime. So hear my heart, Toshinori. I love my son, and I physically, mentally, and emotionally can't afford to put his life in jeopardy. If and when he gets into Yuuei, my decision may change, but for now, don't come around him any longer. I don't want to see your face around this area anymore."