once more (with feeling!)

izuku has a breakdown

A/N before we start: if you've come from apathy, you'll know I haven't posted any new writing on wattpad in like. 3 years. I am warning you now that this fic will have slow updates. I have a job, bills, a life, and adhd. I will forget that this fic exists for months at a time before randomly dropping a chapter. Do not ask me when I'm going to update, because it will only make me not want to. Okay, thank you, please enjoy!

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The ceiling above his bed is home to a sun-faded All Might poster. The first one he ever received, actually, given to him by his father before the diagnosis. It's corny and was once nearly neon in color, though you would never guess looking at it now. Izuku stares up at it, comforter twisted around his limbs and weak sun shining on his face, and frowns.

He distinctly remembers the poster curling into itself as flame burnt away the faded face of his old hero, that press smile crumbling to ash as Izuku drunkenly cried. Freshly twenty, it had been the first time he'd ever drank. His mother eventually came in and gave him one of her pitying looks before bundling him off to bed and throwing the charred poster away. The next morning was mostly him avoiding meeting Inko's eyes, refusing to acknowledge the hangover migraine pounding on his skull as they ate breakfast.

The point is that the poster grinning down at Izuku should definitely not be there. It should be at the bottom of a dumpster somewhere, along with Izuku's hopes and dreams. He can practically smell the plastic-like paper melting, surprisingly sweet. It smells faintly of bananas. Or more accurately, nitroglycerin.

a hand pressed against his mask, the smell of bananas seeping into the fabric smothering him. a plea, a nickname desperately gasped in between gloved fingers —

Izuku throws himself out of bed in a mess of appendages and fabric, barely making it to the All Might Brand trashcan sat next to the desk across the room. He hunches over it and retches, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. The comforter sits halfway on his shoulders, the rest draped across the floor like a cape as Izuku heaves into the can. The bitter taste in his mouth doesn't drown out the smell, so it's probably completely in his head, yet he can't stop his stomach from rolling.

Izuku doesn't notice his mother opening his bedroom door and padding to his side until she kneels next to him and starts smoothing his bangs away from his face, whispering comforting words. He startles, looking up with wide, wild eyes that freeze on her face. She looks at him with gentle concern, matronly expression at home on her round face. The stench of a funeral home mixes with the nitroglycerin and Izuku ducks back into the trash can, emptying his stomach for a second time.

"Oh, Izuku..." his mother sighs, smoothing back his hair again. Izuku can't help but sob, because he hasn't heard that voice in years. Inko Midoriya died the week after Izuku moved out at twenty-three, caught in the crossfire between the League of Villains and a pro-hero. Her funeral was only attended by a few work friends, the Bakugos, and Izuku himself. Izuku doesn't remember a word spoken because he was too busy staring blankly at his mother's casket until the service was over.

Forget the poster that should be ashes. If Inko is here, that means it belongs. The thing that is out of place in this room is him.

Eventually, the heaving stops and the tears slow. Izuku tugs his comforter off his shoulder to sluggishly wipe his mouth with it. He feels gross and exhausted.

"Feeling better?" Inko asks quietly, still petting his hair. He nods weakly and she pulls him in for a hug that he fully leans into. They sit like that for a few more moments before Inko gently pushes him out of the hug, reaching up to wipe some errant tears away with her thumb. "You should take a shower. It'll make you feel better. I'll have breakfast ready when you get out, alright?"