Haunting

Chapter Nine: Ghosting

Izuku hovered, beaming, next to his best friend, eyes scanning over the worksheet Kaachan was diligently working through. The benefit of being in the classroom during lessons was him actually being able to understand the material, and if Kaachan got stuck on a question - a rare occurrence - he would write notes on his paper asking for Izuku's opinion. He would ask a question or write down a thought at the top, then write 'yes' and 'no' on opposite sides of the paper for Izuku to tap on. It was surprisingly efficient, and Kaachan's neighbors picked up on the method and copied it. If Aizawa noticed, he never commented on it despite his rule.

Izuku didn't mind floating around the classroom, searching for anyone who needed help. It gave him something to do, and on days where the memory of his death made his body pulse with phantom pain and his throat fill with blood, it served as an excellent distraction as well as an anchor.

It was hard sometimes, staying in the present, but all of the amazing friends he'd found made things easier. They were a comfort, a kind hand stretched out where none had been before, and Izuku took it and held on with a vice-like grip. Even if it was a little late.

He murmured in the quiet about anything he could think of, feeling the need to paint over the yawning abyss of silence that stretched indefinitely through the classroom. It pulled him backwards, that emptiness, to nothing but a hollow sadness in his chest and dizziness and a silence so loud it made his ears ring. Talking helped, even if he learned quite a while ago that no one could understand.

I want a notebook, I used to write all the time you know, he said to an oblivious Shinsou, the teen scribbling down any words in Izuku's warped speech that he was able to decipher. I can't now of course. I wish I could. You have such a cool quirk. All of you do! I'm glad you're my friend. I'm gonna check on Kiri, good luck .

He floated over, talking to him too. Kirishima grinned as goosebumps pricked up his arms, writing down a quick hello before going back to his homework. I wish you would say hi out loud, it's so quiet in here! Izuku tapped Kirishima's desk absently. The loud noise was soothing. I could never focus without talking too, maybe that hasn't changed. Do you know why I'm here? I'm not supposed to be. I want Katsudon. Have you had it? It's good Kiri, you should try it sometime.

Aizawa's voice cut through the never ending silence, and Izuku stopped, politely listening as Aizawa told everyone to pack up. Someone sighed in relief, and chatter - blessed noise - swelled through the air and chained him to the present. Izuku's whole body buzzed, tingling, and the windows rattled softly with relief.

The worst days, in Izuku's opinion, were weekends and classes with All Might.

Weekends were empty hallways. It was days where there was no distraction. Days where nothing chained him down and he floated higher and higher until his ears rang and he couldn't breathe and the wind roared all around him. It was dark shadows that hid in corners. The whole building echoed to him, expansive and huge, and he felt so small, so insignificant, a Quirkless, weightless kid in a school he could only pretend to be a part of.

All Might, however, was the opposite. He was too much , too bright and shining and Izuku felt shame. Shame at having given up, that he had left such a man with so much potential grief and guilt if he ever figured out what happened when All Might was only being realistic, only wanted him safe.

So Izuku suppressed every habit he had, smothered every noise he made and every response he could give to hide his presence as much as he possibly could. His friends called out to him, worried and concerned, and as much as Izuku felt guilty for ignoring them the fear of All Might figuring out what Izuku had done was infinitely stronger.

He couldn't push All Might out of there fast enough. The rest of the class didn't bother hiding their fondness of him, and the more they used his name in front of his idol the more gut wrenching fear he felt at the thought that the man would remember, a heart he no longer had squeezing in his chest.