I'll be your island in the raging storm

- Chapter 1 -

It's... Cold.

That was the first feeling he got when he stepped into the white snow, out of his warm cabin. Compared to his home, the white ocean of snow seemed endless, ready to suck him in with one wrong step.

His mother had warned him time and time again, her eyes worried and fearful. She would touch his face with her rough, scarred hands and whisper to him.

"Never, ever go outside Izuku... Never. Do you understand?"

He knew very well what the snow and winds could do.

The damage they could cause.

The snow is what had made his village smaller and smaller, until it was just him and his mother for miles around. The snow is what killed his father, what killed their crops, their animals. It was what made his mother so worn down.

Still, as he watched from inside the cabin, his eyes bright with wonder, he couldn't help but think how beautiful it all was.

The snow, each individual snowflake, a different design, a different pattern. So when his mother was fast asleep, he would sneak out of the cabin, the heavy door creaking as he opened it slowly.

It was as if it was weighed down because of his guilt. He was going to do something that he should never ever do. But that didn't stop him. He opened the door and quickly shut it, the harsh winds almost keeping him against the door.

When he finally managed to move his body, the air cut his cheeks and his nose. Still, his eyes shined as he looked at the blinding white above the dark sky. He had never felt this way before.

Having just looked in from a cold broken window was nothing compared to being out in it. In that moment, he knew that this is where he wanted to be.

He couldn't stop coming out at night after this.

It was like a thrill, his small heart beating in excitement as he took a step further every time, looking behind him to see his footprints be erased.

He wondered if this is how his father had felt.

He felt even more guilty.

In the mornings, his mother would sit across from him, a small pot hanging over a small fire in the middle of them. The soup that she always made would bubble and boil, the warm smells wafting up to Izuku's nose.

She would smile gently at him when he excitedly looked into the pot.

"Back up a little Izu. I don't want you to get burned. Haha, come on, it's almost ready, you can be patient."

Izuku would do as she said, sitting down on the floor properly, grinning ear to ear. The cold wood of the floor would make his knees sting slightly, and he could feel a soft, chilling breeze run through the house.

But that didn't matter, because his mom's soup would warm both of them right up.

The chipped spoons and bowls of his childhood would always be locked in a tight box close to Izuku's heart. Her smile, her laugh, her hands, her words would be the chains to keep the box locked and secure.