Chapter Text
Izuku doesn't like to complain. Things bother him, of course, get under his skin, but he doesn't like to complain.
He'll cry. He hadn't liked crying at first either. Kacchan had called him a baby for it. Izuku figures he must be a baby then because he couldn't get himself to stop. He got used to it eventually, the crying, has nothing against it now. No matter what Kacchan says, Izuku knows he got used to it too.
No, Izuku doesn't like to complain. He can't complain either. Really, he's read about so many people in situations so much worse than his. That's what heroes are for, to save people like them. Complaining would be vain. All Might wouldn't complain over this. Izuku likes to think crying is different, so long as it's quiet. He's not asking for anything when he cries.
He hopes dying works the same. When you're dead you can't complain. You can't cry either. He supposes he won't be a baby once he's dead. Maybe Kacchan will even attend his memorial, compliment him on it. Izuku doesn't think he could fly as gracefully as a swan, but maybe he can fall as beautifully as one. Kacchan's not the type to comment on beauty though.
Izuku shivers. It's not really cold out, but it is windy. His hair keeps whipping across his face and it's too short to tuck behind his ears. It's interesting, the wind. Izuku has never cried in the wind before. Well, he probably has, but he hadn't focused on his tears. He was always too caught up in his emotions. Not like a hero, heroes have to be above that, stay focused.
His tears are being blown to the side, tracking messy lines across his face. They get caught in the crook of his nose, unable to roll any further. He has wiped them away twice already, the water on the back of his hand making the cold bite. He will only feel colder, he supposes, when he takes his shoes off.
That is tradition isn't it, or something like it. Leave your shoes on the roof behind you, a note for your loved ones if you have any, for your enemies if you don't. Izuku bent over to tug off his shoes. The gathering tears ran down his nose and fell to the ground. He doesn't have a note to leave behind. He hadn't been able to decide if Kacchan was a loved one or an enemy, and he hadn't had the guts to say anything to his mother. What a hero he would have made, too cowardly to even say goodbye to his own mom.
His socks don't do much to stop the concrete from pulling the warmth out of him. Izuku wonders if the sidewalk will feel as cold. He wonders how quick he would die. He'd done the math. He is sure to die from a fall of this height unless someone with a very good healing quirk is on scene, or someone with a time stalling quirk, or a particularly skilled matter manipulation quirk user.
Izuku doesn't know of anyone at the school with quirks like those. He's sure he knows at least the basics of everyone's quirks and he'd checked beforehand. Izuku wipes the tears off his face again. He's taking too long. School is going to let out soon. He doesn't want to traumatize anyone by dying in front of them.
Izuku steps up onto the little ledge that went around the perimeter of the school's roof, too short to be called a parapet or to be of any practical use. It could shield a note from the wind, keep it from blowing away. He really should have wrote something. He'll never get to say anything again. Too late now.
Izuku steps off the ledge.
He doesn't have time to feel if the sidewalk is cold.