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Izuku lays in his bed, tired eyes staring up at the ceiling. His mind racing.
He should be fine, he really should. But he can’t help but remember it. The image of the battlefield still clear in his mind as if he’s still there; standing in the dirt of the coffin in the sky, trying to assess the situation. It’s as if stuck permanently in that moment, the moment where he turned around and saw Katsuki—his Kacchan—laying on the ground, the light in his eyes gone. Lifeless. Katsuki was laying there lifeless just because Izuku got there late. Katsuki died because of him, Katsuki died because of his mistakes.
He sits up, his breath quickening and his chest getting tighter. He can’t—he can’t do this anymore. Tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes as he grabs his shirt, trying to feel for his rapidly beating heart.
Guilt begins to take him over, consuming him whole until there’s nothing left of him. Guilt for letting Katsuki die. Guilt for roping everyone into his problems. Guilt for killing Shigaraki. No matter where he goes or what he does, no matter the amount lives he has saved, no matter how good of an impact he left on the world, the guilt for murdering someone will linger in the back of his mind until the day he dies. Because it doesn’t matter if he saved the country, the world, if he couldn’t save the person who needed the most saving.
A sob escapes his mouth, the noise echoing through the empty room. His tears drip onto his freshly changed sheets, staining them with his sorrows. He opens his mouth in an attempt to breathe but he can’t. He can’t breathe and that just makes him panic more.
He can’t live like this anymore, he just can’t. He can’t live with the guilt, the fear, the panic attacks. He can’t deal with constant stress and flashbacks. He can’t live normally with the constant reminders of his mistakes surrounding him.
Another cry slips past his lips, vibrating around the walls of his soundproof dorm. He thinks he’s screaming but he isn’t sure, the only thing he can properly register are the memories flooding his mind one after the other. Taunting him until he goes insane.
He can still see it. Shigaraki’s face as the two of them spin around like in a choreographed dance; taunting, menacing—confident. Confident that they were going to win, that he was finally going to give his team—his family—the life that they wanted. The life that they deserved. A life where they can live without judgement, a life where they can live as they please.
Izuku hates how much he understands the League of Villains as if he were a part of them. He hates how much he can understand how someone could consider villainy an option. He hates how he can understand them as people because he was in their position. He was in their position as a victim of society; of it’s cruel discrimination because of something out of his control.
He lets out another sob as he uses his free hand to feel around his bed for his cellphone. When he finds it he turns it on, the blue light encompassing his otherwise pitch black room and burning his irises. He opens his contacts app, scrolling down until he finds it, Aizawa-sensei’s contact. He tries to click on the call button, his shaky fingers missing the hitbox. Once he finally clicks it the other line only rings twice before he can hear his homeroom teacher pick up.
“Midoriya?” He hears a groggy voice ask on the other end.
Izuku opens his mouth to say something but no words come out, only a whimper that slips past his lips before he could think of anything to say.
“Midoriya? Shit,” He hears a faint thump on the other end. “Where are you?”
“I-In my… d-dorm… r-room.” Izuku manages to stutter out between sobs and quick breaths.
“Okay, just stay there, okay?” He hears Aizawa-sensei commands from the other end. “I’m coming. Don’t move.” He hears a faint creak of a door opening and footsteps running from his phone speaker as his homeroom teacher begins to speed towards him.
He doesn’t know how many seconds or minutes pass of him breathing and sobbing in silence until suddenly there’s a firm hand on his shoulder, the words: “Midoriya, breathe with me.” Being whispered into his ears.
“N-No, I…I can’t,” He musters out before inhaling sharply. “I-I can’t breathe.”
“Yes you can. Midoriya, look at me,” Aizawa-sensei says, Izuku’s head snapping to look at his teacher in the eye. “Follow my fingers. Try to match up your breathing to the numbers.” Izuku nods violently.
*”In, one, two, three, four.” Aizawa-sensei says gently, lifting his fingers up in accordance to his words. Izuku tries his best to follow the older man’s instructions.
“Okay, good.” Aizawa-sensei praises. ”Out, one, two, three, four.”
It takes a few more counts and shaky breaths until Izuku has finally got his breathing under control and his tears to stop. “Would you like to tell me what happened, Midoriya?” Aizawa-sensei asks, his tone neutral and calm.
“It’s just—I was awake and I-I couldn’t stop thinking of what happened in the coffin in the sky and—“ Izuku blabbers, panic and fear evident in his voice.
“Slow down, Midoriya. Tell me everything.” Aizawa-sensei says, not a demand but a polite request for Izuku to open up and tell him everything that has been going on in his mind for the past months after the war.
So Izuku does. He tells his teacher about the guilt, the fear, the flashbacks. He opens up about the war. How it felt to kill somebody. How it felt to see his first and best friend dead on the battlefield. He tells his teacher about how the guilt of killing Shigaraki haunts him, even months after the war. He speaks about how it felt to lose One for All—how it felt to become quirkless again. How it feels like he lost all of his worth. How he believes he’s nothing if he can’t save lives.
And Aizawa-sensei listens. He listens despite the late hour. He listens despite the fact they both have to see each other in class tomorrow. He tells Izuku about how the guilt will never truly fade away. How it’ll stay with him until the day he dies. He comforts his student with assurances on how it’ll get better. He speaks from experience on how he saw his friend’s lifeless body get carried away in the rubble of a collapsed building. He speaks on how he manages the flashbacks and pain that came with years of being a pro-hero.
He was right, the pain never truly disappeared. Izuku still wakes up at night in a cold sweat clutching at his heart. Izuku still sneaks out of his dorms to check if Katsuki’s still breathing in his bed. Izuku still feels Shigaraki’s haunting presence when he does any sort of hero work in his new suit.
But Aizawa-sensei was also right about how it gets better. Izuku can appreciate the scenery around him without the guilt haunting him wherever he goes. Izuku can tell his students stories from the war without tears falling down his face. Izuku can breathe now without guilt gnawing at him, scratching at his walls until he breaks.
Izuku can breathe now.