//Blurry Nights||MHAxSk8 the Infinity\\

•Prologue•

July 15, 2XXX-Izuku's fourth birthday

-3rd person POV-

Izuku frantically unwrapped one of the presents he got from his uncle Kojiro for his birthday. It was a long box wrapped in wrapping paper that had a bunch of little wheels all over it. As he lifted the lid of the box, his eyes brightened.

It was a small skateboard with gold and blue wheels, and an All Might graphic on the bottom.

Izuku hopped up and ran to hug his uncle.

"Thank you, Uncle Kojiro!" The little greenette said, his uncle wrapping his arms around the small child.

"No problem, kiddo." Izuku's mother stood to the side, watching the wholesome scene between her son and younger brother.

Six years later, July 10

Izuku came home covered in bruises and scratches, and various other injuries from Kachan and his friends. He held two pieces of wood with wheels on them at his side.

'They didn't have to break my skateboard.' He thought angrily to himself. He avoided the kitchen on the way to his bedroom, knowing his mother would likely be making something for dinner.

He didn't want to worry her, so he always blamed his injuries on his skateboard, saying he fell off. But how would she react this time? If he told her he bailed so hard, his board snapped. And what would she say about the burns? You don't get burns like his from falling off a skateboard. So he just avoided the kitchen altogether, going straight to the stairs.

However, something caught his eye as he reached the base of the stairs. Red stains on every step, and a red streak going into his mother's room. Immediately, he put the dots together and ran to the bedroom. But when he tried to open the door, he met some resistance, like something was propped up against it. He dropped his broken board and slammed his shoulder against the door. Nothing. He did it again. And again. And again. Finally, whatever was holding the door shut fell with a sickening thud, and the door flung open.

Izuku stumbled into the room, and when he saw what was holding the door shut before, he swore he felt his stomach lurch. There, lying before him, was his mother's cold, lifeless body, mutilated and covered in blood.

Izuku ran out of the room and threw up in the hallway. He fell to his knees and covered his mouth, his eyes wide with shock.

Izuku didn't remember much of the next few hours. But what he did remember was blurry, like he was seeing it through a foggy lens.

He remembered the voice of the 911 operator, distant and hazy.

The sirens blaring down the street, the flashes and shutters of the cameras.

The paramedics and the blanket they had given him didn't seem to block out the cold of the summer night breeze.

The horrified and pitiful looks on his neighbors' faces.

The quirkist old man in the apartment above them, claiming Izuku's mother likely committed su!c!d3 because he was quirkless.

The ride in the front seat of a police car to the station for supervision, since none of his neighbors could take him, and his closest next of kin couldn't be in until the next day.

So Izuku sat, and waited, unable to get a wink of sleep on the couch in the chief's cold office.