Work Text:
Izuku sits in the middle of his living room, eyes honed in on the clock resting atop its coffee table. He’s prepared a cupcake, a single candle standing upright in the center of its admittedly deflated peak of frosting, and the flame it boasts flickers back and forth in the apartment’s dim lighting, painting his face with pale shadows.
As he watches the seconds tick by, he can’t help but think back to better days. Or, maybe better isn’t necessarily the right word. Less lonely days. Yes, that sounds more accurate. As he recalls past celebrations, he can’t help but bite the inside of his mouth. He silently goads the clock to speed its progress. He isn’t granted the mercy.
Izuku picks up the device, studying it against the backdrop of scarred hands. Five minutes until twelve. Five minutes until he’s another year further from the past. Five minutes until absolutely nothing changes, save a single digit on his official documents. The cupcake feels horrendously overindulgent, especially for such a bleak occasion, but it’s tradition, and tradition is one of the many things he finds far too difficult to let go. It’s less the object and more what it represents, the people it reminds him of, the lingering idea that he used to actually look forward to July fifteenth, in all its looming, existential glory.
He catches sight of his reflection in the clock’s polished glass. Young. He looks ridiculously young. Tauntingly so. He still gets ID’d at bars, a fact that would be hilarious if it weren’t so sad. His friends had certainly laughed at it back when they’d been there to; the teasing had been fun, back before things had gotten so real. Before he’d realized just how long he’d last.
He hadn’t known that One For All had begun to stockpile lifeforce, not at first. He’d just assumed that he was a bit of a late bloomer, or else, unusually short for his age. Shoto and Katsuki had both shot up at eighteen, a development that resulted in no end of bragging on the latter’s part, though Izuku hadn’t really minded. Nor had he thought of his lack of height as unusual. His mother was short, after all. It very well could’ve been genetic.
It hadn’t been until he’d hit his mid-twenties that the babyface and short stature started raising alarm bells. Looking like a teenager was acceptable in the first few years after graduation, or at the very least, it didn’t raise any eyebrows. Some people aged differently than others, and maybe it would lose you a date or two, but otherwise, there really weren’t many detriments.
But once you hit twenty-five, people started to question things, yourself included. Izuku hadn’t automatically suspected immortality, that would’ve been a ridiculous leap in logic with far too many gaps to account for. But he had visited his doctor, and when he’d been asked for a cell sample after preliminary testing, he’d provided it readily enough. It had come as quite a shock, both to himself and a vast number of medical professionals, that the telomeres in his nuclei weren’t shortening. In fact, nothing in his body seemed to be deteriorating much at all. Apparently, his cells had never really gotten the memo that they were supposed to change. Physically, he was still seventeen.
After some years of investigation, it had been found that Izuku wasn’t technically immortal. His cells were still aging, just not at a rate that would ever impact him over the course of a lifetime. Different doctors and researchers predicted his projected lifespan with varying conclusions, though none had been shorter than three centuries.
Three hundred. An unbelievable number. A ridiculous number. An alienating number. A terrifying number.
So he hadn’t told anyone, not while he could get away with it. There weren’t many ways to broach the subject, and besides, it wasn’t like anyone really needed to know. But the years had kept coming, and eventually, people had realized that something didn’t quite fit. Because he definitely didn’t look twenty-seven, and thirty was far too much of a stretch to be reasonable. So he’d explained, with some difficulty, his diagnosis, to a myriad of responses from his peers.
Ochako had been able to work out the dates. He’d broken up with her the same year of his realization, and it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out why. She’d been apologetic, of course, for the earful she’d originally given him back when he’d lied. It had been so much easier to tell her he’d found someone else than admit the truth, especially since she might worry, or worse, offer to stick around in spite of it all. She hadn’t, when he'd eventually told her, but he’d already withdrawn by then. Maybe it could’ve been different, but he hardly thinks it mattered.
Most of his friends had died of natural causes, which he supposes should be considered a victory, especially considering their line of work. A few had died during rescue missions or at the hands of villains, and those had been harder to stomach. He’d attended every funeral, even when it had meant he would have to leave early for work, or arrive late due to a prior engagement. He’d been very busy, of course. He still is, even now. There’s no rest for the Symbol of Peace, a phrase with more meanings than one.
He still remembers when Katsuki had died. He’d been the last to go, something about inheriting the minor rejuvenating properties of his mother’s quirk. Izuku doesn’t really recall the exact explanation. It hadn’t mattered much as losing him had. One last tether to childhood. To his schooling days. To everyone he'd known in his natural lifespan, the people he really should’ve died with. There was still Eri and Kota of course, and for a while, that had been enough.
He’d mentored them, worked with them, and then, eventually, watched them die too. Maybe it’s some form of karma. None of the other One For All users had been able to keep personal relationships for fear of losing them. He’d broken a taboo, and now, here he is living off the life he stole from them. He’s learned his lesson though. He knows not to get attached now.
The clock in his hands strikes twelve.
“Happy birthday,” He mutters to the empty room, extinguishing the candle’s flame. “Here’s to another year.”
This day marks Izuku’s four-hundredth year on Earth. Physically, he’s only twenty. When he'd originally received predictions regarding his projected age, he had hoped they were wrong. Now, he wishes that it really had only been three-hundred years as opposed to the vast, insurmountable emptiness that stretches out before him in all directions. He has no idea how long he'll live. No one does.
"Happy birthday!"
Izuku used to jump when Yoichi appeared unexpectedly beside him. Now, he doesn't even raise an eyebrow. "Thank you. You're very punctual this year, huh?"
The vestige studies his face. "Hm. You don’t really sound excited."
Izuku shrugs. "If you want to come back tomorrow, when I'm out in public, you'll probably find me in better spirits."
"Oh." Yoichi's grin drops. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine." Izuku would usually fake a smile, but Yoichi is one of the few people he doesn't feel the need to act performatively with. He assumes this springs from the fact that his presence is such an enduring constant. "I know you were only trying to be supportive."
Izuku sets the clock back down on the table. He lifts the cupcake from Its resting place, contemplating a bite. After a few seconds of examination, he thinks better of it.
"Why are you still here?"
Yoichi blinks. "I can leave, if you want me to. I just thought you might want some company."
"I didn't mean here as in my apartment." Izuku sighs. "I meant here as in my head. The others haven't been around for decades now. I mean they're still there, I can tell, but… they're sleeping, aren’t they? Why aren't you?"
It's Yoichi's turn to shrug. "I suppose that doesn't really change my answer any. I thought you might want some company. I know it's difficult, waking up in a world entirely separate from the one you were born into. I had people I knew with me, when it happened. People I really cared about. That isn't an option for you, so I thought that maybe I could be the next best thing. Was that too presumptuous?"
"No."
Izuku thinks back to the times Yoichi had appeared. Holidays, funerals, his trip to clean out his mother's apartment, the day he'd returned to Yuuei to give a speech to the year's graduates… he'd guessed of course, his reasons for being there. But he'd wanted to hear them spoken aloud. It's nice to know that someone cares. Even so, he can’t help but feel guilty.
"You don't have to stay on my account, you know. I understand if you want to fade away. Existing can be… draining, after a while. I'd want to leave me too."
There's a beat of heavy silence.
"I'm sorry for inflicting this on you," Yoichi says by way of response. "I know it isn't what you wanted."
"It's not much of a price when you consider what we got for it. The world is safe, and everyone I loved died happy. That's all I ever wanted."
"So, what about you? Would you say you're happy?"
Izuku contemplates that for a moment. "I'm not unhappy."
"That isn't what I asked."
"No." Izuku's gaze wanders back to the clock. "I wouldn't say I'm happy."
He stands up, reaching down to cradle the cupcake in his cupped hands. He doesn't think twice as he walks over to the kitchen, dumping their contents unceremoniously into a trashcan. The resulting splat is only a little satisfying.
"I've been watching you work." Yoichi adjusts his position on the couch, meeting his eyes from across the room. "You're getting sloppy. Too sloppy for someone of your skill."
Izuku turns away. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Izuku, are you-"
"No." He interjects perhaps a bit too quickly. "You know I can't. Not while people still need me."
Yoichi frowns. "It all comes back to that, doesn't it?"
"If you've really been watching me lately, then you know." Izuku opens the fridge. Just because he didn't want the cupcake doesn't mean he doesn't want something else. "I saved twenty people from a fire yesterday. That's twenty people that would've died if I hadn't been there. They said no one else could've made it in time, when they interviewed me afterwards. A mother with two kids was in the building. A father who had a flight to see his estranged son for the first time in years. A kindergarten teacher. They all thanked me. I'm still doing something that matters."
"You haven't taken a day off in over a century. I can't imagine that's healthy."
"They all blur together, eventually. It doesn't matter how many days I work when every day is the same. Besides, I'm healthy no matter what I do. One For All, remember?"
Yoichi shoots him the most piteous look he's ever received. Izuku tries not to visibly shrink away from it. "Intentional overworking is a form of self-harm, you know."
"It isn’t overworking if I can handle it."
"If you can handle it, then why are you getting sloppy?"
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"You know what I'm referring to." Izuku's eyes rove the fridge for a moment before retrieving a bottle of sake. It’s only been opened once. He doesn't typically drink, primarily because he doesn't have anyone to drink with. "Stop implying things when you have no idea whether or not they're true."
"I'm only speaking with you like this because I'm worried about you."
Izuku produces a shot glass from a cabinet. It had been given to him as a souvenir what feels like ages ago. He's sure it's from somewhere in Europe, though for the life of him, he can’t recall the exact location. He fills it as high as he's able.
"And I'm very grateful." He really means it. "But I don’t need mentoring anymore. I'm fine on my own."
"Izuku-"
"I'm not suicidal." He downs a shot. "Just tired. That's why I haven't been up to standard. It's not burnout though. I just… haven't been sleeping well."
Neither of them believe that, and Izuku knows it. There's a beat of silence in which he downs a second, more prolonged dose of sake.
"How much longer do you think I'll last?"
"Don't ask me to answer that."
"Why not? I'm sure you have an opinion on it. Everyone else does. Some of my fans actually bet on it, believe it or not. There's at least a hundred-thousand yen saying I'll outlive Japan."
"You're being needlessly cruel."
Izuku looks genuinely taken aback by the candid concern that rings through the vestige's voice. "I'm sorry."
"I didn't mean to me. I meant to yourself."
"Oh. Well, I won't apologize for that." He stares down into his empty shot glass, rotating it in small circles with the motion of his wrist. "Do you think he feels lonely too?"
Yoichi stands, walking over to the kitchen bar. "Who exactly is 'he' in this scenario?"
"Your brother."
Yoichi intakes a sharp breath. "You aren't actually considering-"
"No. No, I'm not going to visit him. I'm not that desperate for company. But he did marry my mother, you know. I wonder if he cared for her at all. Maybe I'd get a reaction if I spoke to him about her death."
"And then what?"
Izuku taps his fingers absentmindedly against the counter. "And then at least I wouldn't be the only one grieving."
Izuku absolutely loathes how pathetic that sounds, but not enough to take it back. It's natural to want to find someone who hurts in the same ways you do.
"There are people who care about you. People who aren't egotistical mass murderers."
"Aside from you?"
"Yes, aside from me. What about your friends' descendants? You still keep in touch with them, don't you?"
"I don't know them. They only communicate with me out of abstract generational duty. Bakugo Akane never even knew Eijiro or Katsuki, at least not aside from the stories her grandparents told. Any common link we could've shared simply doesn’t exist."
"But she still tries. I think that means a lot more than you allow it to. You should reciprocate once in a while. You don’t need to have a mutual friend to find common ground."
Izuku shakes his head scornfully, filling his glass a third time. "I don't need the reminder. When I see her, I think of them, even if she is from an adopted line. Besides, it's better this way. I can't lose people if I don't get attached."
"Losing people is a natural part of life."
Izuku laughs, the sound dark and bitter. "Nothing about this is natural."
Another poignant pause passes.
"At least you're being honest with me for once." Yoichi leans back against the counter, arms crossed. "But I'm worried about the motive behind it. Are you neglecting to spare my feelings out of a desire to push me away?"
“And what if I am?”
“Izuku, if I wanted to leave, then I'd already be gone.”
“The only reason you don't want to leave is guilt. You don't owe me anything, you know. I don’t want to be the thing that keeps you here.” Izuku’s voice is calm. Even. But there’s something vulnerable in it too. He wishes there weren’t. “Just because I'm going through something difficult doesn't mean that you have to suffer with me.”
Yoichi walks over to place a hand on Izuku's shoulder. He flinches away from the motion, taking a significant step back across the tile floor. The vestige lowers his hand, but he doesn’t back down. "We're family. I'm not leaving until you want me to. And I mean really want me to, and not out of a misguided desire to help me."
Izuku's shoulders slump. "Don't say things like that. That only makes this harder. You're going to leave eventually, you have to. And I don't want it to hurt when you do."
“It's always going to hurt when people leave, but being alone isn't any better.” Yoichi casts a glance back towards the coffee table, pupils settling on the clock it supports. “You already said you're not happy."
"I'm not happy, but I'm not hurting either. Apathy is preferable to pain. I think I've learned that much by now." Izuku punctuates the sentence with another shot. "I'm not good, but I'm okay. That's enough."
Yoichi tilts his head to one side, mouth set in a sympathetic line. "If you refuse to find someone to talk to, then you could at least retire. You deserve a break."
"I can't do that. You know I can't. One For All can't be passed on to a new vessel, not anymore, and if I stop, then people will die. You said so yourself, this power is a responsibility. I'm not going to endanger people just because I'm a bit tired."
"So you do want to retire."
"It doesn't matter what I want. What matters is what the world needs. And what it needs is an enduring symbol of peace. I'll rest when I'm dead."
Yoichi’s gaze turns soft. "Don't make the same mistakes as Yagi."
Izuku flinches, his free hand curling into a tight fist. After a moment of brutal silence, he tilts his chin up towards the ceiling. "Do you think it's my fault that he never became a fully formed vestige?"
“No.” The guilt in Yoichi’s voice is palpable. He’s definitely taken note of the effect his words had on Izuku. “Why would it have been?”
"He gave One For All to me a significant amount of time prior to his death. The rest of you nearly died with it. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't wish what you're going through on anyone, but…"
"But you miss him."
Izuku refills his shot glass. "Obviously. And I didn't get to say goodbye. I owe him so much, and I never had the opportunity to pay him back for any of it. He deserved better."
"That's how it usually is with parents, I think. The good ones, at least. But as with most cases, I think he considered it rewarding enough to know you'd have a good future. Aside from fulfilling his duty to One For All, your wellbeing was his primary concern."
Izuku raises the glass to his mouth once more, tilting it back with considerable force. The liquid feels harsh on his throat as it goes down, cold and sickly sweet. "He wasn't my father."
"You thought of him as one," Yoichi states. "If he were here, I'm sure he'd tell you the same things I am."
Izuku sighs, bowing his head over the counter atop two elbow-propped arms, glass suspended between two steepled hands. "You don't know that. He took his responsibilities very seriously. He'd want me to keep using One For All to protect others until I physically couldn’t. Public Safety comes first."
"What about Bakugo then?"
"Kacchan's opinion doesn't count," Izuku mutters, head sinking closer to the counter. "He was always hyperbolic. He actually suggested that I retire when the rest of them did, and you and I both know that would’ve been far too early."
"Would it have? You'd already given a lifetime of service. You don't owe anyone any more than that. Defeating my brother really should’ve been enough on it's own. You've already given this world much more than you've gotten in return."
Izuku snorts, the gesture rife with derision. "That's a very unheroic sentiment."
"You forget. I was never really a hero."
"Well, I am one. And I'm going to work tomorrow, whether you approve of it or not." Izuku lifts his head, filling and drinking another glass in record time.
"Even if you're hungover?"
"I plan on rehydrating." To display his point, Izuku produces a cup from an overhead cabinet, filling it promptly with tap water before setting it beside the sink. "And besides, I haven't had that much."
"Really? You're almost done with that bottle."
Izuku raises the vessel to the light, nodding in begrudging agreement. "You're right. Guess I'm going to have to take out that Sangiovese I've been saving. It's a good vintage too. I'm not even sure how long it's been fermenting, if I'm being honest. Never had any guests to open it with."
"I've never seen you drink to get drunk before."
Izuku shrugs resentfully. "First time for everything."
"You really shouldn't make this a habit."
"I might not. We'll see how it goes."
Yoichi’s mouth contorts into a cautious frown. "Izuku-"
"Don't try to guilt me for this. I haven't done anything reckless for hundreds of years. At least not in this sense. I think I deserve to make a few mistakes."
"Okay." Yoichi can't argue with that, both he and Izuku know it. Izuku has always been concerned with maintaining the image of a model hero, even in private. He knows it must signify something big, that he’s chosen to break that streak now, but he doesn’t really want to examine it any further. "I'm going to stay up with you tonight."
"Why?" Izuku asks, though he already knows the answer.
"Take a guess. You said mistakes. Plural."
"I already told you, I'm not suicidal." Izuku enters the pantry. It takes a moment for him to find the wine, buried as it is behind his more regular purchases. When he emerges, he’s met with narrowed eyes and a disapproving scowl. "You're paranoid."
Yoichi sighs. "I'd rather be paranoid than right."
Izuku doesn’t even bother to retrieve a glass, removing the bottle’s cork before drinking directly from its neck. He’s decided he’s done putting up pretenses, at least as far as physicality is concerned. He’s far too tired to put on airs, or maybe just too buzzed. He can’t quite tell.
"It's not like you could stop me if you wanted to. You're a ghost."
Yoichi’s eyes go wide with something between shock and terror. "Are you implying that-"
“No. I'm just saying that if you were right, which you aren't, it wouldn't really change much.” He bows his head. “Hypothetically speaking.”
"You're not doing a great job of convincing me that you'll be safe alone."
Izuku sets down the bottle of wine. He’s not sure how much he managed to drain in the first chug, but it feels significantly lighter. He feels a tad remorseful for how little mind he paid to the taste. It had been a gift, when he’d originally received it. "Stay then. I can't stop you."
Yoichi complies, taking a seat on a barstool. Izuku should’ve expected as much. Stubbornness runs in the family. “You’re going to get liver poisoning if you keep that up. And you haven’t even touched that glass of water you filled. You do want to go to work tomorrow, don’t you?”
Izuku shoots him a pointed glare, walking over to pick up the cup that still sits beside the kitchen sink. His head feels light on his shoulders, and he finds it difficult to maintain a straight gait as he walks, but he does manage to make it across the kitchen. He supposes he’ll take his victories where he can get them. After two tries, he manages to pick up the glass of water, though his hands shake as he raises it.
“You should go to sleep,” Yoichi advises. “It’s already one in the morning.”
Izuku inadvertently spills some water on his shirt as he takes a sip. He tries to mask the mistake with a hand. Yoichi raises an eyebrow. “I've stayed up later than this before. If you're tired though, you should feel free to leave."
Yoichi sighs. "Fine. Stay up. But could you at least lie down on the couch? You're worrying me with that glass of water."
Izuku's begrudging nods of agreement move diagonally rather than vertically, and he can’t quite seem to correct them. Maybe lying down wouldn’t hurt, for just a bit. He can get up when his mind begins to feel a bit less addled. "Fine. Just… don't let me fall asleep."
"Sure." Yoichi smiles appeasingly. "As long as you lie down."
Izuku somehow manages to make it to the couch before collapsing completely, and Yoichi walks over to take a seat in the armchair beside it.
"Why this birthday, in particular?" The vestige’s voice is light. Tentative. Like he’s testing unsure ground. "Did something happen that I'm not aware of?"
For a moment, Izuku considers ignoring the question, or perhaps even feigning sleep. He’s certainly capable, and maybe, possibly, the action would finally convince his endlessly pestering uncle to leave him alone, at least for the night. But something, be it loneliness or alcohol, goads him to tell the truth. There’s a desire there for understanding, and for once, he doesn’t feel particularly inclined to neglect it.
Izuku shifts, displacing several couch cushions in the process. He can’t quite be bothered to correct them. "It was stupid. It was really, really stupid. But I accepted an invitation to teach a class at Yuuei a few weeks ago. I thought it might be nice to go back and see things again. I've been feeling a little numb lately, and I guess I hoped it would wake me up a little. Remind me of why I wanted to do all this in the first place. It worked a little too well."
"Oh."
"Yeah. It was different. Really different. New renovations, new curriculum… new staff, none of whom I’d met. I knew to expect that of course, but it didn't really feel real until I was directly confronted with it. You never really get used to seeing the world move on without you. At least not in the long term. You may know, integrally, that the people you loved are dead. That the places you’ve been are gone. But you never really apply the knowledge. It always seems so distant, so intangible, until you’re put in a place where you can’t dissociate anymore. Where you have to admit that as much as you might hate it, they’re gone. You’ve returned to the place they should be, and they aren’t there. They’ll never be, ever again. They weren’t carrying on without you this whole time. You were carrying on without them.”
“Izuku-”
“They’d asked me to plan and oversee a training exercise for the first years. It should’ve been easy. I mean, it was easy, actually, the planning part. But as soon as it came time to move from theory to practice, well… they were far too much like we were, you know? I’d forgotten what it looked like to be a hero hopeful, young, and ambitious, and stupid, and overeager. They were all so ready to prove themselves, and you could tell that they enjoyed what they were doing, like really enjoyed it, and believed in it too. I’d never realized that I’d lost that, until I was staring it right in the face. And they were so close, too. It’d only been two months since they’d met, but they’d already formed combo moves, and inside jokes, and ways of teasing each other that were obviously born more of intimacy than malice. Just like we did.”
Izuku hugs his arms to his chest.
"I missed that. I miss them. My friends, my teachers, my mom… everyone. And it hurt like nothing else to realize that there's no returning to it all. I'm going to keep on living, possibly forever, and I'll never get to experience any of that again. I'll never get to talk to the same people, or eat the same foods, or fight the same battles, or see life in the same way I did back before all this. And I can't help but mourn that. Seeing those kids happy really should’ve lifted my spirits, but it didn't. I think I feel worse now than I have in fifty years, and before that, for the longest time, I'm not even sure I was really feeling much of anything at all. Time can be a really terrible thing."
Yoichi falls silent for a moment. "You're right. It definitely can. But it can also be indescribably beautiful. Without it, you wouldn't have anything to mourn. Time is what forged those memories in the first place. And it can make more."
"This is going to sound so immature, but I really don't want it to." Tears are starting to form in Izuku's eyes. "If I move on, then it feels like I'm finally admitting it. That they're really gone, and they're never coming back. And I don't want that to be the case. I really, really don't."
"I know." Yoichi rises, walking over to place a hand on Izuku's shoulder. This time, he doesn't flinch away. "I know it's hard. But you can't control that. It's a truth that everyone has to face eventually. There's no way to return to the past, but you can make a better future. You don’t necessarily have to let go of the people who made you to do it, either. Acknowledging that they're gone isn't the same as losing them. The person you are now is inherently a result of their influence on you, you couldn't extricate yourself from that even if you wanted to. They're a part of your identity, and from here on out, you can only add to what they've given you, not detract from it."
“Maybe that’s true.” Izuku is crying now, indisputably, but the tears are quiet. For once, there’s no sniffling, or whining, or bawling, just silent, unbroken weeping. “But experiences aren’t expendable. People aren’t expendable. And I’m not going to go out and find new ones just so that I can watch them leave again. Then all my life will ever be is a cycle.”
“The world runs on cycles, and so do humans. Isn’t there some comfort in that? Things change certainly, but even more surely, they persist. Everything repeats itself, if you wait long enough.”
“So I’m supposed to find comfort in the fact that everyone I love will die, and eventually, I’ll have to replace them? Over and over again?”
Yoichi nods slowly. “If you can manage it. I think that sometimes, it’s the loss that makes it all worth it. For a lot of people, it’s the only way they’ll ever really appreciate what they have.”
“Not me.” Izuku shakes his head. “I knew what I had back then, too. I never took any of it for granted. I didn’t need it to be taken away. There wasn’t any cosmic lesson to be learned.”
“And you don’t think living in it forever would’ve devalued it any?”
“No.” There’s an edge to Izuku’s voice, he can hear it himself. “Never. But I would’ve rather died with it.”
Yoichi sits up straight, eyes taking on a startling intensity. He locks them directly with Izuku’s. “Do you want someone to blame?”
“What?”
“You’ve never told me that this was my fault. Not even once. But I know you think it, and I know you resent me for it. Whether I deserve that or not, I think it might offer you some catharsis to finally admit it to yourself. If you want to be angry, don’t be angry with the world. Be angry with me.”
Izuku scoffs, sitting up. The motion is accompanied by a harsh wave of nausea, but he disregards it to the best of his ability. “Don’t be overdramatic. None of this is your fault. You had no idea your quirk would ever result in this.”
“Maybe not. But you never intended to outlive your friends either, and you still blame yourself for that.”
Izuku flinches back. “That’s harsh.”
“It’s true. If you want to treat me fairly, that’s fine. I definitely won’t argue. But I want you to treat yourself fairly first.” Yoichi narrows his eyes. “I know you’re afraid of losing people, but I also know you’re aware of how much happier reconnecting with them would make you. This isolation isn’t just a coping mechanism, it’s a form of self-inflicted punishment. I’m trying to pull you out of it the nice way, but if you’re unwilling to listen, then I’ll have to be harsh. You deserve better than this.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I remember when you stopped taking weekends off.” Yoichi reclines back in his chair. “It was around the same time you stopped contact with your friends’ children. You were always so happy during those visits. Melancholy too, but mostly happy. When they mentioned their parents though… you’d always get that guilty look in your eyes. Like you felt responsible for something.”
“Okay, fine. I feel bad for outliving my friends. It isn’t like you didn’t already know that. It’s the only thing we’ve been talking about all night, really.” Izuku crosses his arms. “I didn’t deserve to be here longer than any of them. Most of them had children, or otherwise families, and the only thing I ever had to live for was them.”
“That’s why you stopped going, isn’t it?”
“That, and I wanted to keep my distance. There aren’t many opportunities to form friendships at work, not when you’re a solo hero. It was easier that way.”
“You don’t think you deserve to be happy.”
“Not particularly.”
“And you don’t think that happiness is attainable for you regardless.”
“Because it isn’t.”
Yoichi sighs. “It’s okay to admit that you need help. I have no idea what you’re afraid of. I’m not going to judge you for it.”
“I never denied that I was depressed.”
“But you’ve never confided in me, or anyone else, for that matter. You’ve never sought out therapy. You’ve never-”
“This isn’t the kind of problem that just goes away with a few conversations. The issue here is my quirk, not my mind, and there’s no dealing with the former in any way that doesn’t endanger others. This is just something that I have to live with as the last holder of One For All. It’s my burden, and I can shoulder it on my own.”
“You aren’t Atlas.”
Izuku looks down at his lap. “I might as well be.”
“You’re the only family I have left too, you know.” Yoichi looks over at the clock on the table once more. “Other than my brother, of course, but we both know that he doesn’t count. Not really. We’re in this together, and I know you’re headstrong, but you have to have figured out by this point that I am too. You’ve said before that being a hero means saving others, even when they don’t want to be saved. I’m going to save you.”
Izuku scowls. He’s tired of dancing around the point. “Why won’t you just say it? That you think I want to die? You keep dancing around the point.”
“You keep denying it. Maybe I was hoping it wasn’t true.”
“Well, it is.” Izuku isn’t certain what made him admit it. Maybe the alcohol, or more likely, the desire to lash out. He feels terribly vulnerable in a way he hasn’t in the past, not for centuries now. It’s painful, to feel again. “I want to die, and I was going to do something about it tonight, until you came along. Are you happy now?”
Yoichi blinks. “You knew I’d be here. I visit you every birthday.”
“Maybe I thought that this year, you’d finally have the sense to give up.”
“No,” Yoichi asserts. “You didn’t. Because when I did talk to you, you were honest with me. You’re looking for a reason to live.”
“Guess so. But you haven’t really given me one.”
“I’ve certainly tried. What do you want me to say?”
“That’s the thing.” Izuku shrugs. “I have absolutely no idea.”
And he really doesn’t. He’d hoped that Yoichi could say something entirely new and unexpected to move him, or at the very least guilt him for trying to abandon his responsibilities. And it’s obvious that he’s made an effort towards the former, though the latter seems to be territory too aggressive for him to tread. He doesn’t want Izuku to hurt, that much is evident, and maybe that should be enough.
He’s been wondering if the vestiges will cease to exist when he does, along with his quirk. If Yoichi would mind. He’s been searching in the spaces between his words for an answer, but the vestige seems entirely focused on Izuku’s wants, completely neglecting to reveal his own. It’s odd, being on the other end of blind, stubborn selflessness.
But he can’t say he’s entirely unappreciative of it. He cares about his uncle, even if he is a bit bullheaded, and he really does want to prove him right. Izuku hadn’t really thought that anyone cared whether he lived or died, at least not enough to try and save him. And he wants to make that effort worth it. Maybe that’s enough, at least to stick around another day.
“You really think I’m worth saving, don’t you?”
Yoichi’s gaze is determined. “Yes.”
“Fine.” Izuku stands, fighting back the vertigo that bubbles up around his head. “I’m taking off work tomorrow. Akane’s been trying to invite me over for ages now. Maybe I’ll see if she and her wife are free sometime this week.”
Yoichi nearly jumps in his armchair. “You’re messing with me.”
“No, not about this.” Izuku sighs. “But I’m not promising that I’m going to get any better, you know. Just that I’ll try, at least for a bit.”
Yoichi’s face breaks out into a relieved smile. “You don’t have to. Trying is more than enough. Why the sudden change in heart?”
“I said earlier that I didn’t have anyone. I see now that that’s not really true. Sometimes, all it takes is one hand to save someone, right?” Izuku raises an eyebrow. “I’m not saying that you saved me, but the effort means something. It’s not so much what you said, and more the fact that you cared enough to try. And who knows? Maybe everything you've said is true. I won't know until I see for myself."
"Well…" Yoichi seems to be at a bit of a loss for words. "Thank you. For trying, I mean."
"Same to you." Izuku stands, briefly, before falling back to the couch. "I… think I'm going to sleep out here tonight. Just because-"
"You're drunk. Yeah." Yoichi still hasn't stopped beaming. "You aren't going to regret this. I promise."
"I'll try my best not to."
The vestige fades then, and Izuku is left alone. He looks at the clock one final time before shutting his eyes. For now, at least, he isn't alone.