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“It’s not bad to have a dream, young man. Just… make sure your dreams are attainable. Realistic. Understand?”
…
Izuku is unsure how long he has been on the rooftop.
For too long, probably. Long enough for the sun to set. Enough for explosions to go off somewhere in the distance, most likely a villain attack, and for them to stop. For what might be the first time in his life, Izuku’s legs don’t itch with the urge to run towards the action.
He doesn’t know what building he’s on top of. He knows that the door leading down from the roof is unlocked, and he can leave at any time. He doesn’t go to it. Instead, he watches the hustle of the city below him, and the clouds drift by above him. His fingers grip his ruined analysis notebook as if it can somehow save him from the spiral of doom his mind is taking him down. The building is tall, he knows that. Tall enough to be a long fall. Tall enough to step off of and never return. That’s a dangerous line of thought.
Though, having his dream crushed by the very man who inspired said dream warrants a bit of dangerous thinking, Izuku decides. On the same day his childhood friend told him to kill himself, no less.
Maybe it’s the universe telling him that his time is up. That he’s not needed here anymore. He doubts he ever was. Izuku’s life has been an uphill battle of everyone telling him he can’t. He can’t be useful, he can’t be loved, he can’t be a hero. All because he doesn’t have a quirk. It was nice, to think he could surpass all the can’t for a while, but reality was going to catch up to him at some point. He just wishes it could’ve caught up to him in a form other than the hero that had been keeping him going for years. Oh well. Maybe All Might is the only one who would’ve been able to knock some sense into Izuku’s thick skull.
Izuku knows he won’t be missed. His mom is working a night shift, so she won’t worry about him not coming home, at least not for tonight. Kacchan will be happy to be rid of a worthless Deku. He’ll miss the people he talks to online, sure, but they’ll all move on easily once they realize he’s not coming back. He feels bad for putting his mom through this, but it’s for the best. She’ll understand that.
The suicide rates for quirkless people have been at an all-time high for the past few years. Izuku isn’t proud to say he is going to be contributing to it. He wonders, for a fleeting moment, if his classmates will regret how they treated him. They probably won’t, but it’s nice to imagine.
It’s around midnight when Izuku finally sets his backpack on the ground. It’s bright yellow, his favorite color, because it reminded him of All Might. Now, he thinks it might make him sick. Izuku peels off his shoes, because he doesn’t want to cause any more trouble than he has to. The bright red that’s defined him as less than for his whole life. He places them neatly next to his backpack and turns to the edge of the roof.
He decides he’ll sit for a while. It’s not that he’s stalling, but he doesn’t necessarily want to die. He’s not looking forward to hurling down to his death. It’s just, there’s not anything else for him, is there?
The notebook still in his hands is somehow a coalition of sludge, burn marks, and waterlogging. Izuku opens it up again, and his analysis is difficult to read with only the moon as lighting. It’s probably not any good, anyways. He flips to the page with All Might’s signature. It feels more like a nail in his heart than it does the autograph of his dreams. The urge to tear it out and rip it apart rises in Izuku, but he pushes that away. It’s from All Might, the number one hero, Izuku isn’t an idiot. People would kill for it. Hell, the Izuku twenty-four hours ago would’ve killed for it.
What All Might said has to be correct. He knows better than some middle school boy with insane aspirations. He has to be realistic.
Izuku closes the notebook and sets it to the side. His legs dangle off the roof, his hands grip the edge a little tighter, and Izuku comes to terms with his own death. It was always inevitable, wasn’t it? From the moment he was diagnosed quirkless, he was always going to die by his own hand. He was never going to make it in life. He cries over kitten videos, for heaven’s sake, how could he ever think he was cut out for heroism?
Someone else will just have to be the first quirkless hero.
“Hey, kid.”
He does not jump at the voice that appears out of nowhere, nor does he turn around. He doesn’t want to see who has found him on the verge of ending his life. He didn’t hear the door open, so the person must have come from a nearby roof, which means they’re most likely a hero. And any good hero won’t leave him alone until he’s stepped away from the edge. God dammit.
Izuku slouches his shoulders instead of answering. He’s not in the mood to talk. He’s not in the mood for anything except sleeping forever, but it seems life has other plans.
Footsteps draw closer, soft and light as if Izuku is a feral animal. The intruder sits on the ledge next to him, black boots and pants coming into view like a creature of the night. He’s vaguely aware of the hero picking up his analysis book and flipping it open, but Izuku’s mind is too hazy to really think about it. Instead, he thinks about how pissed he is that he’s been interrupted, and can’t kill himself anymore. He briefly considers cussing out the hero, but holds back, because heroes deal with enough shit already without some suicidal teenager cursing them.
“Did you write all this?” The voice is deep and gruff, like a cranky old man who hasn’t had his coffee yet. Izuku hums affirmatively with a nod. “It’s impressive. Most pros aren’t anywhere near this smart.”
Despite everything, Izuku preens a bit at the praise. He’s never been told he’s smart by anyone aside from his mother, so it hits a little too close to his heart for comfort. The voice in his head that sounds like Kacchan tells him the stranger is lying to get Izuku off the edge, which is fair. Would the hero still be trying so hard if they knew of Izuku’s quirk status? Or would they leave to let the world be rid of another useless Deku?
“You do this for fun?” The hero asks.
“Mhm. Quirks are really interesting to me. I’ve been analyzing them since I could write.” Izuku’s mouth pulls upwards a little. He can’t help it, he just enjoys learning about quirks so much! The science and biology behind them never fails to make him perk up.
The hero makes a noise of surprise, catching his attention. “You have me in here.”
This finally gets Izuku to look up. He’s met with the pro hero Eraserhead. Holy fucking shit.
Eraserhead has been one of Izuku’s favorite heroes for so long. He brings the fight down to a quirkless playing field, something that’s rarely seen elsewhere. It’s hard to get information, with the man being an underground hero and all, but Izuku’s done his best with the short video clips and snippets of information he could find online. An unorthodox choice as a favorite, considering his other is (was) All Might, but it’s what he’s chosen nonetheless. And now he’s met Eraserhead.
He’s met Eraserhead on top of a building he was just about to jump off. God, he should have gone through with it, this is so embarrassing. Wow, he met his two favorite heroes on the same day.
“E– Eraserhead?!” He squeaks out, his voice cracking with his surprise. Curse puberty.
“Most people don’t even know I exist.” Eraserhead replies, looking over the two-page spread dedicated to him. This includes a rough sketch, his quirk, a detailed analysis and possible applications of it, ways to improve, support items that could be useful, and a breakdown of Eraserhead’s strengths and weaknesses. It’s nowhere near as much information as some of the pages dedicated to daylight heroes that he could actually find information on, but he tried his best with what he had available.
Izuku spent hours scouring underground hero forums and every corner of the internet for information on Eraserhead when he first heard about the hero. He came up with only a handful of grainy CCTV videos of back-alley fights and brief, typed-out recounts from people he’d saved trying to figure out who exactly he was. Mostly victims of late night muggings or assaults, though Izuku did manage to scrounge up some information about a few drug raids and other shady dealings that Eraserhead helped stop. The hero clearly does all he can to stay out of the media, which Izuku can understand, but it did make him frustrating to analyze.
The surveillance footage did not do the man justice. For one, his hair is much longer than Izuku thought. The choppy cameras made his black hair blend in with the darkness. Is it practical to have longer hair like Eraserhead’s with a vision-based quirk? Wouldn’t it get in his eyes?
“My hair floats when I use my quirk.”
“It– huh?”
“I like my hair long. It’s not a problem because it floats.”
Izuku pauses. He didn’t realize he had been mumbling out loud, but that’s not anything surprising. His muttering habit has been getting worse recently. His teachers look like they’re one day away from straight up muzzling him, which Izuku has been pointedly ignoring the (very likely) possibility of. “But… that’s not your quirk. Huh. Maybe a lingering genetic telekinesis quirk? Or a second, weaker quirk? Or maybe that’s just how your body evolved, to allow you to better use Erasure. If you were upside down, would your hair go up into your face?”
“It stays hanging down.”
“Fascinating!” Izuku leans a little closer to Eraserhead. He’s not used to anyone indulging his insatiable need for knowledge. “Can I have my notebook back to write this down?”
Eraserhead closes said notebook. “I’ll give it back if you get off the edge of this roof.”
Oh, right. The circumstances of their meeting that Izuku had forgotten crash back into him at full force. He immediately straightens out, moving with enough force to make Eraserhead twitch like he half expected Izuku to fling himself off the roof with the reminder of what he came here to do. Which isn’t off the table, honestly.
“Of course! Yeah— um, sorry, about all this.” Izuku peels himself off the edge with reluctance. The call of the ground below loosens its hold on him, just a little. He makes sure to take a good few exaggerated steps towards the middle of the roof, for his own peace of mind as much as Eraserhead’s. The cement is cold under his socked feet, shoes still neatly lined up next to his bag. The hero pulls himself up as well, handing Izuku his journal before sticking his hands in his pockets like this is a casual conversation.
The ruined paper is somewhat grounding in his palms. He can feel the scorch marks from Kacchan, the now-dried wrinkly cover, and the spine he had to duct-tape together after two of his classmates decided to play catch with it. “Don’t apologize,” Eraserhead says, barely heard over the wind. “Tell me what brought you up here.”
“Just— ah, just a bad day, y’know?” Izuku awkwardly laughs. He really doesn’t feel like spilling his life story to one of his favorite heroes. He’s not exactly lying — he did have a bad day. Maybe one of the worst in his life, second only to the day he was diagnosed quirkless. Or third, after the day his dad packed his things and fled to America with only a note that his mom has never allowed him to read. He can assume, though, he’s the reason for his father’s absence. Nobody wants a quirkless child.
Eraserhead raises an eyebrow. “A single bad day doesn’t just lead to a roof, kid.”
Izuku, strangely, feels cornered, despite being on a large open rooftop. “It was… really bad. I’ve had, like, a lot of bad days recently.” Izuku looks down at his feet. He does not look up as Eraserhead steps closer. He does, however, flinch when a heavy hand settles on his shoulder.
“Yeah?” Eraserhead asks.
“Yeah,” Izuku answers, laughing bitterly.
“I get that, I really do.” The hero tells him, and usually Izuku wouldn’t believe anyone who says that because no, they don’t get it, they’ve never been quirkless in a world where quirks are the driving force of humanity. But something tells him that maybe Eraserhead does understand, or something close to it. Izuku’s well aware of how people with villainous quirks are treated in this world, barely a step up from being quirkless, so if anyone gets it, it would be Eraserhead. “But there are better ways to deal with it, kid. There’s help available.”
“No,” Izuku whispers, “Not for me.”
Nobody wants to help the quirkless kid. Nobody cares enough to attempt to keep around a useless child that can’t make explosions from his hands or throw strength-enhanced punches. Not his teachers, not his peers, not any sort of authority figure that’s supposed to. Only his mom. But even she’s distant, working multiple jobs to keep food on the table because society decided she should be punished for bringing a quirkless spawn into the world, as if it’s her fault.
“Why not?”
“Because… I’m quirkless.” He tenses up, closing his eyes. He waits for the scoff or laugh or disgusted sound he’s grown used to, but it never comes. The hand stays on his shoulder and Eraser doesn’t run off, he doesn’t immediately discard him for his lack of quirk.
Instead he sighs but it’s not a sigh of this kid isn’t worth saving, it’s a disappointed-in-the-world kind of sigh that Izuku’s only ever heard come from himself. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve help.”
Eraserhead’s voice is so full of conviction that Izuku almost believes it. His own words come out small, smaller than he means them to. “Nobody’s ever said that to me before.”
He finally looks up at Eraserhead. The hand on his shoulder moves to the top of his head, ruffling his hair into more of a mess than it already is. There’s a little upturn of the hero’s mouth that Izuku identifies as a sad smile. A smile he’s seen on his own face in the mirror time and time again. “They should have.” Eraserhead takes his hand back and Izuku mourns the loss. He didn’t know it until now, but he craves that soft physical touch more than he realized. Usually, when people touch him, it’s a punch to his face or a kick to his stomach or a passive-aggressive pat on the arm from a teacher. He gets hugs from his mom, but those are few and far between with how much she works, and when she’s home she’s usually sleeping off the post-work exhaustion.
Izuku considers asking Eraserhead for a hug before realizing that Eraserhead does not seem like the kind of guy to enjoy physical touch. Also, it probably would be pretty weird to hug some random kid he found on a roof.
But, he could ask something else.
It’s a bad idea. A terrible one, even. But Izuku needs to know the answer. Yes, he’s gotten answers time and time again, answers from his mom and Kacchan and his teachers and even All Might. But getting a no has never stopped him from asking before. Each time he desperately wonders when someone will say yes, when someone will believe in him. “Eraser?” He hesitates, “Can I… become a hero? Even— even though I don’t have a quirk?”
The hero stares at him, long and hard. “It would be difficult. You’d have to work twice as hard as everyone else, and you’d never be able to make it big like All Might, not without something flashy. But I’m a hero, aren’t I?”
Izuku blinks. It’s not a no, and it’s not quite an astounding yes. But it’s true. It’s the most hope anyone has given him in years. He’ll never be All Might, he knows that, but that doesn’t matter. Izuku doesn’t need glory. He just needs to save people. He needs to save people like he needs to breathe. There’s a humming in his veins that makes him itch for it. It’s what he was made for. It’s what he’s wanted since he could speak. Izuku needs people to not throw him away the moment they learn about his quirklessness, he just needs to be given a chance. And that’s what Eraserhead is offering him.
“You are,” His throat is thick with unshed tears, “You’re an amazing hero, Eraserhead.”
“I don’t hear that often. Thanks, kid.”
He hums, unsure what else there is to say. Izuku doesn’t want to leave, not even a little, but he can’t keep taking up Eraserhead’s time. There’s criminals to arrest, far more important than him. “You should, um, get back to your patrol. Sorry.”
“And leave you up here?” Eraserhead gives him an incredulous eyebrow raise.
“I don’t— I’m not going to jump, anymore. You— I think, I think you’ve helped me a lot more than you realize.” Izuku walks back to his things as he speaks, sitting with his back against the ledge as he puts his shoes on. He pulls his phone out of his backpack to see zero missed texts or calls. The only notification is from the hero news website he follows, some article about a kid being saved by All Might. Izuku will read it later.
“You got anyone at home?” The hero asks. “I’m not going to leave you alone tonight.”
Izuku considers lying, he really does, but he doesn’t have it in him. “No. My mom is working a night shift. But I’ll be fine! I’m not going to do anything bad, I swear!”
The wind makes him shiver as Eraserhead stares him down, as if he’s considering something. The silence grows longer and Eraser pulls out his phone to type something. Izuku shuffles back and forth on his feet, unsure what exactly is happening, until the hero pockets his phone and looks back at him. “You’re coming home with me.”
“I’m— what?!”
“I’ll take you back to my apartment for tonight. I don’t want you alone, and I doubt you want to be alone either. My husband is used to me bringing home strays,” he shrugs, “cats and kids aren’t that different.”
“You— you can’t— I can’t just go into a hero’s apartment!” Izuku is five seconds from fully freaking out.
“If you’re not comfortable then I can leave you at the police station or hospital.”
He takes a moment to consider these options, and promptly throws them both out the window. The police station is scary and the hospital would tell his mom, the one person Izuku never wants to know about this situation. Ever. It would crush her, and stress her out even more. That’s not even considering how hospitals tend to treat quirkless people. Izuku is not keen on finding out how they’d handle a suicidal quirkless person. What if he’s put in a psych ward? Absolutely not. “No, no hospitals or police stations. I just— is it really okay for me to go to your home? I don’t want to get in the way.”
“Kid. I’m inviting you into my home. You’re not a burden.” Eraserhead acts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and it gives Izuku a bit of whiplash. He’s spent his whole life being told the exact opposite. In the time it takes him to compute Eraser’s words, the hero has hauled him back to his feet. “My apartment’s not far. We can walk, I’ll bring us down.”
Eraser extends an arm out that Izuku cautiously accepts, only to be immediately tugged to the hero’s chest. It’s not exactly the hug he was wanting, but it’s close enough. Izuku holds on tight and closes his eyes as Eraserhead lets them fall, slowing their descent with his capture weapon.
Once they land in an alleyway, Izuku takes a deep breath before he pulls away. He doesn’t want to bother Eraser more than he already has. “Let’s go,” Eraserhead says, and begins leading the way.
The city is quiet as they walk. They miraculously don’t encounter any criminal activity, which is a feat considering the building they were on is in the slums of Musutafu. Or, Eraserhead took out all the criminals before stumbling upon Izuku. He really, really hopes he hasn’t just cut Eraser’s patrol short. He’s unsure how long he was on that roof with the hero but it was probably a while. Oh, he probably wasted so much time up there just to not go through with it, wasted Eraserhead’s time that could’ve been spent saving people who actually needed it—
“I have two cats. Are you allergic?” Eraserhead breaks Izuku out of his mental spiral as if he could tell Izuku was about to work himself into a tizzy. It takes him a moment to actually process the question, his brain working overtime from the suicide to the self-deprecation to the apparent cats that Eraserhead owns.
“I’m not. I really like cats, actually.”
“That’s good.” The hero hums, then takes out his phone to check something. “My husband’s set up the guest room for you. If you’re lucky, the cats will leave you alone.”
“I wouldn’t call that lucky.” Izuku laughs. He’d prefer if the cats bothered him, really. Something about being less alone.
As they enter an unassuming apartment building, Eraserhead turns to look at him. “What’s your name, kid?” The receptionist at the front desk is fast asleep, head buried in her arms. Her hair looks like it’s made from a rough material and Izuku immediately finds himself wanting to bombard her with questions about her quirk. The chime of the elevator arriving stops him.
“Um, Izuku.” He says, not willing to give up his family name, considering it links him to his mother. And if Eraserhead can find his mom, he can tell Izuku’s mom exactly what he was doing up on a very tall roof in the middle of the night. Though it’s probably just as easy to find a quirkless kid named Izuku. He really didn’t think his answer through. Oh well. He has a feeling he can trust Eraserhead to not go digging.
The elevator doors close behind them as Eraser pushes the button for the ninth floor. “Okay, Izuku. I’m Aizawa. My husband is Yamada, but he’s probably gone back to sleep by now, so you won’t see him.”
Izuku nods as they step off on Aizawa’s floor and walk to his apartment, the man digging his keys out of his pockets. They enter and quietly slip their shoes off.
The decor is… not what Izuku would’ve expected from pro hero Eraserhead. Not that he was expecting anything specific — but if he was, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been colorful mismatched furniture with little trinkets littering shelves. Aizawa almost seems out of place with his black clothing, a stark contrast, but somehow he fits in perfectly. Two felines crowd them immediately, weaving between their legs and meowing like they’ve been starved for a week.
He crouches down and holds out a hand for the kitties to sniff, cooing at how adorable they are. Aizawa turns on a lamp, casting the room into dim yellow. “The black cat is Bastard. Don’t let him fool you, he’s evil. The calico is Jelly.”
Izuku smiles at the two. Bastard rubs his head against Izuku’s hand with so much force it nearly knocks him over while Jelly continues meowing at Aizawa. She follows him to the small kitchen when he finally relents, scooping a small amount of kibble into two different feeding bowls. Bastard ignores the food in favor of the new human that is willing to give him attention and unending pets.
“The guest room is over here. There should be clothes laid out for you.” Aizawa points to an open door, “And that’s the bathroom. If you need anything, don’t be scared to ask.”
“Thank you. I, um, I really appreciate it.” Izuku stands up despite the disgruntled meow from Bastard. The guest room is far less decorated than the rest of the home, and folded clothes are laid out on the bed just as Aizawa had said.
“Goodnight, kid.”
“Goodnight.”
Izuku changes into the too-big hoodie and sweatpants, which he has to roll the waistband several times. He only freaks out about wearing Eraserhead’s (or Eraserhead’s husband’s) clothes for a minute before deciding he is far too tired to have yet another crisis. His yellow backpack is set against the bedside table. Izuku doesn’t text his mother about his whereabouts, because he really doesn’t want to have to make up an excuse. She hopefully won’t even notice he’s gone considering she usually goes straight to bed when she gets home. He’ll definitely leave a note thanking Eraserhead and his husband before he leaves, if neither of them are awake by the time he has to make his way to school.
He lets Bastard in when the cat starts clawing at the door, and leaves it cracked in case he wants to leave when Izuku’s asleep. The bedsheets are soft and the blanket is warm and with Bastard cuddled up next to him, Izuku almost wishes he could spend every night here instead of in his cold and empty apartment.
He closes his eyes, and falls asleep listening to Bastard’s little snores.