Fighter (BNHA Fanfiction)

XI

Izuku's POV

"Please let her be ok. Please." I quietly beg to no one in particular while waiting for the news from the doctor.

Olivia was rushed straight to the hospital after she stopped breathing. I've been in my own hospital room ever since. Suddenly, I hear my phone ring.

"Hello?" My voice is scratchy and dry.

"Honey! Thank god your ok. I was worried sick." On the other line was my concerned mother. Looks like she was informed by the school about the attack.

"Don't worry mom....I'm ok." my tone dropped as I'm reminded that my best friend is in urgent care right now. 

I guess my mom picked up on that, "I heard about Olivia..." she started out soft but tried to add some light-heartedness to her voice, "but don't worry too much! You know how she is. She rushes headfirst into stuff, gets banged up, but bounces back before we have time to be concerned. Just watch before you know it she'll be coming through that hospital door of yours."

I crack a small smile. She wasn't wrong. This isn't the first time Olivia has hurt herself and then randomly showed up at my doorstep.

"Yea your right. Actually isn't that how you two met?"

"Haha yes. I remember it like it was yesterday."

"Me too."

That memory comes back in vivid color, flooding my mind. It was about 2 years ago so we were in our second year of junior high. I was sitting at my dinner table worrying about Olivia just like today.

"Izuku what's wrong?" My mom asked in a concerned tone as she handed me my plate of food. Her words were laced with concern, similar to today as well.

"Olivia got into another fight again and she got beaten pretty bad. I wasn't there when it happened, but I overheard the kids talking about it during lunch..." I remember the burning feeling of helplessness almost too clearly. "she's in the nurse's office right now because she lives by herself and doesn't have someone to take care of her. I think right after dinner I'm going to make her a plate and bring it to he-"

*knock* *knock* *knock* Someone was at our door.

I was confused as to who could be at our door at that hour of night. I never would have thought to see her face on the other side of that door. At the time we were just going through puberty so she was still undeveloped but she still looked just as adorable then as she does now.

I opened the door and saw she had patches of gaze on her face with bruises littered along her arms and legs. Now that I think about it, she probably had even more hidden by her torn up shirt and shorts.

I remember the feelings of guilt and helplessness rise up my throat as I surveyed her injuries. But somehow as soon as I saw that cocky smirk of hers all of those feelings disappeared as if they were never there.

And as if history made it a point to repeat it's self, I hear a knock at my room door. As if we were playing that day over again, I see her figure come through the door, and the bright hospital lights just further highlighted her outline just like that night. She was standing there in all her glory. The faded memory of her standing in my house's doorway and the image of her now standing in front of my bed were side by side.

Her hand, which was in a cast, was on her hip, mirroring her stance from that day, and the same beat-up cocky smirk displayed on her face. As she spoke the same words that took my breath away. The same words that took all of the fear, worry, guilt, pain, and anxiety of losing her away. The words that will forever be embedded in my conciseness.