Frenzy

|CHAPTER 7|: Familiarity

Izuku stepped into the hospital, the automated doors sliding shut behind him with a soft hiss. He didn't bother looking up at the impressive architecture—the soaring ceilings, the chandeliers sparkling under the glass roof, or the way the natural light streamed through, giving the space an almost serene atmosphere. None of that registered anymore. It was just the same familiar routine: in, out, done. The hospital had lost its initial impact long ago.

The lobby bustled with the usual flow of patients and visitors, the polished floors reflecting blurred shapes of people moving through the space. The soft hum of conversations, the distant beeps of machines, and the occasional squeak of rubber soles on tile all blended into a background noise Izuku barely noticed anymore. He weaved through the crowd with practiced ease, his feet carrying him down the path he'd walked countless times. The sterile smell of antiseptic and faint traces of floral air freshener were now so ingrained in his senses that they barely registered. It was a scent he both resented and found oddly comforting—because as much as he hated being here, this place had become something of a second home, whether he liked it or not.

He passed the reception desk without a glance, heading straight for the elevators. The sleek chrome doors reflected his tense expression back at him, a reminder of the weariness he couldn't quite shake. The ride up was as silent as always, just the quiet hum of the machinery and the soft ding as he reached his floor. The hallways were familiar—cream-colored walls, framed generic art that never quite brightened the place up, and doors with nameplates beside them, leading to the rooms he knew all too well. Each room held its own stories, its own mix of hope and despair, but Izuku's focus remained singular.

He moved through the halls with purpose, nodding politely at the nurses who had become regular fixtures in his routine. They knew him by now, greeted him with gentle smiles, but didn't press for conversation. They understood—Izuku was here to see someone important, and idle chat wasn't on his agenda. The distant buzz of fluorescent lights overhead and the muffled sounds of a television playing down the corridor created an atmosphere of quiet tension that never quite faded. But Izuku was used to it, numb to the undercurrent of unease that clung to the place.

Finally, he reached his destination: a room that had become too familiar for his liking. The door was slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of light to spill out into the hallway. Izuku paused for a moment, his hand resting on the cool metal handle as he drew in a steadying breath. No matter how many times he did this, there was always a brief second of hesitation, a moment where he had to steel himself before walking in.

He quietly stepped into the room, the clinical sound of beeping monitors and machines filling his ears as he did. He has taught himself to drown out that sound but nothing can ever prepare him when he sees his mother in that bed again. No matter how many times he saw her like this. The pit only grew wider each time.

Izuku's eyes were fixed on his mother's sleeping face before it was drawn towards the half welting flowers on the table next to her. Flowers he had brought last time. He has always made it a point to bring something for her whenever he visited, granted, she wasn't always awake for him to give it to her. But he knew she appreciated it. 

This time, he brought her favorite, Dorayaki. He pulled the the small box out of his hand bag before walking over to the mini fridge he had placed in her room. He took a seat on the chair next to her bed that never seemed to shift from the position he always left it in. It made sense. No one else, other than Izuku came to see her. He was the only family she had left. She was the only family he had left.

He sat quietly, watching her, his chest heavy with a sorrow that seemed to settle deeper with every passing day. His mother's face looked peaceful, but the machines around her told a different story. The beeping remained steady, a cruel reminder of how fragile her condition was. Izuku's eyes misted over as he reached out, gently taking her hand in his. He squeezed it softly, as if trying to transfer his warmth and love into her cold fingers.