Chapter Text
Obsessive.
That's how your mother had described your intense desire for Izuku Midoriya. At first she had thought you were just a fan, admiring the young boy who had, during the years, grown to become a Pro Hero.
She didn't think much about all the posters and fake autographs you had hung up on your wall at the age of 17. The figures standing on your drawer, the t-shirts you wore, showing a bright smiling Deku, Deku in a fighting stance, Deku in Ground Zero's costume, Deku in All Might's costume, Deku, Deku, Deku.
Everywhere.
But your mother didn't mind. That's how 17 year old girls act, right? Other's had their favorite boygroup merch covering every emtpy space in their room, while you admired Deku.
She started to get concerned when she found notepads, lots and lots of them, all of them filled with information about the young man. An extremely detailed characterization about Izuku Midoriya, his birthday, where he was born and raised, facts about his mother, where his scars were, where he got them from. Detailed information about the battles he had fought. An analysis of his fighting style, theories on where his dad was, who he was and why he left.
Deku’s favorite food, favorite season, his favorite color, song. Things he loved, things he hated, people he admired, dreams he had, nightmares he woke up to. All of those information collected and put together in a span of four years, watching news where he showed up, rewatching them over and over, searching for interviews on Youtube, to gather as many information as possible about the green haired Hero.
When you turned 20 your mother realized that your admiration wasn’t normal anymore. Being awake until early in the morning you spend hours and hours to watch videos about him, videos you had seen a thousand times already. She tried to speak to you about it, carefully, but she figured soon enough, that Deku had not only become someone you loved, but were obsessed with and when someone tried to talk you out of it, you’d fall into a hole. Realizing that all the merchandise and information you had didn’t change the fact, that Deku was far, far away. Out of reach. More than 1.000 km away from you. Never next to you, arms securely wrapped around you.
He’d never be. And since the reality left you deeply depressed, your mother decided to just let you do whatever you thought you needed to do. As long as it made you happy, she thought. You still did your stuff for school or college, motivated by the strong One for All successor, who’d been born quirkless but had never given up.
She still wished you’d one day find your way back to reality but as years went by and you started to live on your own, she knew, you’d always be stuck in the phantasy of one day meeting the person you loved the most, but had never met before.
Your Quirk didn’t help at all. It was a seasonal quirk, one you could only use in winter when the snow had fallen. At the age of five you had found out what your Quirk was able to do. You had built a snowman with your friend back then. You were crying, missing your father and when you had touched the snowman, he had turned into a replica of your dad, alive, features, voice, character just the way you had remembered him to be. Your mother had always been sure, she’d be happy to meet her husband just one more time. But when you brought him home, looking like him, smelling like him, but melting and talking weird, she knew, he wasn’t real and he’d never ever come back.
Those had been the worst five days your mother had ever experienced. Her dead husband being around, breaking her heart to see he was there, but wasn’t. To see the happiness in your eyes and then the tears and grief when he melted completely to leave both of them a second time.
Never had you turned a snowman into your dad again.
Since you could only practice during winter, there weren’t many possibilities to improve your quirk. But five years later you made one come alive again, this time a dog, until he, again, melted away a few weeks later.
At the age of 16 you tried on two or more, every time they melted within a few days. They had speech defects or their facial features looked weird, their characteristics weren’t specific and didn’t match with the real person you tried to impersonate.
With 21 you managed to build an almost perfect replica of your mom. She looked the same, moved the same, talked, smelled and laughed the same way. She wore that same sad expression. She stayed for almost two months until she melted too. Much to your mother’s delight, although she tried to take it with humor.
When you moved out of your parent’s home, living on your own in a small apartment in a quiet area of Nagasaki in the South of Japan, she didn’t realize, all of the practices had been for just one reason.