RESURGENCE - MHA x FReader

Chapter XVII: Watched on Repeat

Ughh... I hate this.

We all make mistakes, right? That's what humans do. It's bound to happen. But when someone you admire—the person who taught you how to control your quirk, who tucked you in at night, who carried you upstairs when you pretended to fall asleep in the car—does it?

It's not just disappointing. It's heartbreaking.

Some things never change, even in another life...

You laugh.

Not too loud—not weird either. Just the right amount of amusement to keep Izuku from looking worried again. You're good at calibrating it, like adjusting the volume on a radio until it sounds perfectly normal.

He's been glancing at you all morning, his brows knit like he's trying to solve some invisible puzzle. And you can't have that. You can't let anyone notice the cracks.

"Y/N," he says cautiously, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Are you... sure you're okay? You've been kinda quiet."

His words land heavier than they should.

You force yourself to smile, swinging your bag higher on your shoulder with practiced ease. 

"I'm fine. Just tired. My dad's been on a cleaning spree lately—he dragged me into helping until, like, midnight."

Your tone is steady, light, almost teasing.

Izuku's expression softens instantly. Relief washes over his features like rain soaking into dry earth. "Oh. That makes sense. He always seemed really neat."

"Neat is an understatement." You roll your eyes for emphasis, like you're exaggerating, like you're just another kid complaining about their parent. "He's one pair of crooked shoes away from a heart attack."

Izuku giggles—this soft, breathy sound that always makes your chest loosen, even when it feels like it's been stitched too tight.

And you breathe.

Good. That's good. He believes you.

But you don't let your shoulders sag. You don't let yourself exhale all the way.

Because if you stop—even for a second—your mind is going to replay everything from last night.

Your dad's figure disappearing into that sketchy building.
The faint metallic tang in the air—blood or disinfectant, you couldn't tell. Both, maybe.
The sound of boots.

Heavy. Deliberate. Crunching against gravel.

Getting closer.

Closer.

Until—

Stop.

You blink hard, shaking yourself back into the present.

The hallway feels different now. Too bright, too sharp. The chatter of students scrapes against your ears like nails against glass. Someone bursts into laughter near the lockers, high-pitched and sudden, and the sharp bang of a locker door slamming shut makes you flinch before you can catch yourself.

Your heart gives this ugly, stuttering kick.

You press your lips together, smooth the hem of your skirt like nothing happened, like your nerves aren't rattling around inside your chest.

You're fine.
You're fine.

You're—

"Watch it, dumbasses."