hero's shadow // mha

54) the love that remains

Izuku holds a pillow in his left hand, staring straight ahead of him. The cotton that was inside of it is now spread out before him—on the floor, the table, his lap, the sheets, everywhere.

It happened fast. He didn't do it on purpose.

He was pressing it harshly up to his face, trying to hide from the world and the unwanted emotions swimming around him, when suddenly the fabric was ripping and cotton was flying in every which way. It's as if they were impatient little clouds needing to scatter after being freed. It was annoying and humiliating, yet well-deserved all the same.

If Izuku had better control over himself, half of this shit wouldn't be happening. That wouldn't have happened.

After the pillow broke, though, the universe went quiet. To Izuku, it—

Broke? Izuku laughs silently to himself. Is that even the right word? I tore it up. You can't... break a pillow. It's not something you can break, it's something you ruin.

His left hand throbs. His scars itch. His right arm stays numb. It's a new system he doesn't want to get used to, but he knows he might have to.

It's going to hurt to pick up all the cotton. He slides off the bed to start doing it anyway and winces, body protesting. A nurse came in right after Aizawa left to give him more fluids and to explain to him what he should expect in the next couple of days. She had this look on her face that told Izuku she could hear exactly what was happening between him and Aizawa prior to his departure.

She wasn't pitying him, no. But there was something else there. Something soft.

Whatever it was, Izuku is glad she didn't say anything about it. He was already embarrassed knowing someone else might have overheard the argument.

(He's also grateful that the nurses over here aren't snitches. Maybe not all medical professionals are bad...)

Anyway, he's going to have to apologize to her when he next sees her. He ruined the damn pillow, and he hopes UA won't have to pay for it. He's already done enough damage.

Pull comes to the tips of his fingers so he doesn't have to strain himself so much. The cotton shakes, floats up, and presses against his left palm. He releases the connection and does it again and again, panting, until everything is off the floor and on his lap.

It's slow, it's annoying, and Izuku can barely keep a good hold on Pull the entire time, but it works.

The hard part comes when he has to push the cotton back inside the hole in the pillow. Izuku forms the masses into little pieces about the size of golf balls and carefully pops them inside. It's so draining that he has to stop for water a few times in the middle of it. Eventually, the pillow is back to being its regular self, albeit a little more lumpy and disfigured than before.

"Heh. Kind of like me, right?"

Is that rhetorical? Number one asks, making Izuku sigh and drop Pull completely. He stares hard at the pillow.

"Yes."

Regardless, I agree with your statement.

"Thank you. I think I would've lost a lot of sleep tonight if you didn't just tell me that."

You get more sarcastic the more you're injured, Ninth. It's a good defense mechanism, and I'm sure it's served you well over the years, but I wouldn't always fall back on it. It pushes people away.

Izuku closes his eyes, focusing on the voice. He tries to visualize the sound he's hearing all around him. If he can grasp the root of it with his mind, maybe he can yank it out of its socket like a plug. If they can shut him out, he should be able to do the same thing to them. He wants to shut them up permanently.