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Inko Midoriya used to love the quiet Sundays.
The days where the house would be calm and serene.

Days where she'd be able to just sit on the couch, holding onto a steaming cup of coffee while reading a book.

Of course, those were also the days where her son would haul himself up in his room all day, playing video games.

She guessed that most teenagers did that. However, when she'd see the smile on her son's face during those times. She'd say it was worth it.

Her son loved playing games. He got lost in his own little world every time he picked up a game console.

However, all good things must come to an end.

Because life wasn't fair.

Izuku learned that, way too early.

Inko Midoriya hated the quiet.

She hated the silence that constantly plagued her small apartment.

Hated the emptiness she felt every time she stepped inside.

It's funny how a single moment can change someone's life completely. How a single decision can alter who we are forever.

All it took was one day, one afternoon for her whole world to fall apart.

Her son went into his room and never came out.

Later, she'd thank whatever instinct that made her wait before trying to take off that helmet of his.

Her son was ripped away from her. He was taken away and trapped in a game. If they could even call it that when her son could die at any given second.

After the first year, she started to lose hope of ever speaking to her son again.

The image of her boy, laying still and too motionless in his hospital bed was starting to overtake the good memories she had of him.

She just wanted to hear his voice again. See him smile, laugh, even cry.

She wanted her son back.

She'd spent her days at the hospital. Watching as the hair on his shoulders got longer. Watched as the muscle on his arms frayed and faded. Watched as his cheeks hollowed out. His limbs growing and his body changing as he grew right before her eyes.

Yet, her son wasn't there.

He was trapped inside a sick, twisted game.

She blamed the world. She blamed the creator of the game but most importantly... She blamed herself.

If only she'd believed in him more.

If only she'd insisted on having that dinner.

If only she'd been a better mother.

If only...

So, Inko spent her days crying, silently praying to every higher force out there to bring her son home and safe.

She cried until the day her son's hand twitched.

As his eyes, glossed over and hazy, fluttered open.

His mouth barely moving as he tried to speak for the first time in years.

Two years had passed. Two years of quiet, loneliness and hopelessness. But alas her hope was back. He was safe.

What more could she ask for.

____________________

Soft noises echoed through his mind. A rhythmic beeping acting as some sort of alarm clock. Ever so slowly dragging him out of his unconscious state and into the real world.