breathing room

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/22012513.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: Gen
Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero
Academia
Relationship: Midoriya Izuku & Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta |
Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku, Class
1-A & Midoriya Izuku
Character: Midoriya Izuku, Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead,
Bakugou Katsuki, Iida Tenya, Uraraka Ochako, Todoroki Shouto,
Original Characters, Class 1-A (My Hero Academia)
Additional Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, News Media, as usual it's 8k of me
mercilessly beating izuku up, Hurt Midoriya Izuku, Canon-Typical
Violence, the holy trinity: dadzawa & dadmight & platonic bkdk, but it's
unholy because everything hurts, Gift Fic, Parental Aizawa Shouta |
Eraserhead, Parental Yagi Toshinori | All Might, months after the fact i
realized i did not in fact tag dadzawa or dadmight
Stats: Published: 2019-12-29 Words: 8084

breathing room
by achievingelysium

Summary

“Am I,” Aizawa-sensei began, “hurting you?”

Izuku didn’t know if it counted. In. Out.

“No,” the word came out in a whisper. Then, even quieter, “yes.”

A tight encounter with a news reporter leaves Izuku struggling to catch his breath.

Notes

happy holidays it's angst time

See the end of the work for more notes

breathing room
 achieving elysium

for: Aradow

When U.A.'s gates swam into sight, Izuku's heart sank like a stone through the sea of reporters. A
mass of moving people was clumped together; the flash of lights and the ebb and flow made them
look like crashing, hungry waves.

Izuku bit his lip. He was running late.

A few students were making their way through the crowd of reporters, and just past them Izuku
spotted teachers. He shifted his backpack on his shoulders, feeling queasy.

What would All Might do? He'd smile, definitely. In his media appearances, he seemed
untouchable. He cut through the crowds easily, but no one ever felt like they were being brushed
off. All Might made everything look easy, but now Izuku wondered if he minded the cameras and
the lights.

Izuku swallowed. He slipped between the first few reporters, and then suddenly he was in it. A
camera clicked in his face. Izuku threw an arm over his eyes and shuffled forward.

Then he remembered they were taking pictures of him, remembered All Might smiling… All
Might hadn't hidden. Izuku lowered his arm and tried to smile, though he was sure it was wobbly.

"That's Midoriya Izuku, first-year in Heroics—" someone started to say.

Could they see him shaking? Izuku took a step, then another. U.A. seemed so far away.

"Can you comment on the rise in villains targeting your class?"

"Does U.A. make you feel safe?"

"—run-in with the villain at the helm of the League of Villains…"

Click. Click. Izuku's smile wavered; he tried to speak but couldn't.

"—your Quirk—"

"When All Might retired—"

Izuku choked. His legs felt like they'd turned to jelly. He forced himself forward even as he walked
deeper and deeper and deeper.

"Excuse me," a reporter said, and Izuku paused on instinct to be polite.

Fingers closed around Izuku's wrist, the grip tightening but the movement lost in the swelling
movement around them. The reporter—a slight woman with glasses—smiled at him, tucking her
camera under her free arm.

"Um," Izuku started, "I- I'm sorry, but… but I have to—"

Get to class, his mind supplied. But the reporter had such a firm grasp on his hand. He could
probably free himself. Izuku knew he was strong enough, but there was just so many people and he
didn't want to hurt anyone.
"Just a question," she said, and he bobbed his head nervously, wanting to run. "Then I'll let you
go."

"I guess…" Izuku took a breath. He could answer a question. It was just one.

"I'd just like to know something, Midoriya Izuku." She knew his name. "You are surrounded by
heroes, but are you comfortable around them?"

Izuku could only half-think with her hand around his wrist. He rocked back on his heels.

"I… I don't think I understand…"

The reporter's eyes flashed behind her glasses. Izuku's wrist was starting to hurt. A prickling
feeling crept up his arm, like it had fallen asleep.

"I don't believe that heroes can simply be… taught," she articulated, glancing in the direction of
U.A.'s gates, "or that everyone who walks out of those doors is a hero. How much can you trust the
people around you to help when you really need it?"

Izuku's throat tightened. Sweat made the skin under his shirt damp, made the fabric of his uniform
stick uncomfortably. When Izuku opened his mouth to answer, he realized he'd begun to breathe
rapidly, the air in his chest slipping away.

The reporter kept smiling at him. The prickling feeling spread. The hand around his wrist was as
tight as ever. He had to respond or she wouldn't let him go, and Izuku would be late, and he
couldn't— quite— get enough air…

"Please let go of my student."

Aizawa-sensei stepped smoothly between them, blocking Izuku's view of the reporter. Izuku
couldn't see his face, but, oh, that was Aizawa-sensei's angry-but-controlled voice. The kind he
used sometimes in class when they did stupid things, or got too loud, and meant trouble for
everyone unless they behaved.

"Sensei…"

Izuku's voice quavered. He hated how pathetic he sounded to his own ears, a little short of breath
and in that almost-crying voice.

Aizawa-sensei did not look at him.

"Let my student go," he said, "and do not make me say it again. You are assaulting him and
disrupting his time and work. I will use force if you refuse."

The last connection between them—linked hands, a tight grip, nails digging into skin. Izuku
shivered when the reporter brushed a finger along the inside of his wrist and then drew away.

"Alright," he heard the reporter say. Izuku lifted his hand to his chest, cradling it. Aizawa-sensei's
presence had cleared a few of the reporters out of the way. Izuku tried not to gasp in air, taking in
quiet breaths.

Aizawa-sensei had stepped completely between Izuku and the reporter now.

"Don't touch one of my students again," he said, and Izuku heard the threat in his voice. "Midoriya.
Let's go."
Izuku lowered his eyes to the ground. Aizawa-sensei waited for Izuku to take the first step before
following, acting like a barrier. Izuku wanted to say thank you but couldn't.

"Midoriya—" His name floated through the din. Izuku's heart raced.

"Don't listen," Aizawa-sensei started.

"—I hope you'll find the answer to my question."

They got through the gates. Through the front doors. Aizawa-sensei stopped when Izuku did, his
shoulders slumping as he turned to face the wall. He couldn't look at Aizawa-sensei now that the
people were gone and the discomfort was beginning to recede.

Izuku rubbed at his wrist. It was still— he could still feel… the lingering touch. He tugged at his
shirt collar next, and breathed in. He was fine. There was plenty of air. It was just the crowd, and
the fear, but it was over now.

"Are you alright?"

Izuku nodded.

"Did she hurt you? Do anything?"

The prickling sensation returned. He wondered if she had done anything, but… what had felt like
eternity to Izuku had only been a minute or two in reality.

"She just. Asked me a question." Izuku blinked rapidly. "That's- that's all. She just asked me a
question."

It was only a question.

Why hadn't Izuku been able to answer? Why had the words gotten stuck in his throat?

Aizawa-sensei was quiet for a moment. Izuku swallowed when his teacher stepped closer, close
enough to see Aizawa-sensei's gaze clearly. His chest began to hurt. Aizawa-sensei was too—
Izuku drew in a breath, then another.

"She put you in a dangerous situation," Aizawa-sensei said, taking two steps back. He was
perceptive like that, Izuku thought, the tightness easing. He seemed to always know. "That was
unacceptable. She shouldn't have touched you."

"It… it was just…"

But Izuku faltered.

He hadn't done anything to stop her, really, and she'd just wanted to ask Izuku a question. And he
suddenly remembered she'd known him by name. She hadn't stopped a U.A. student… she'd
stopped him.

"It was not just anything," Aizawa-sensei said, "do you understand? I'm sorry I couldn't get there
faster."

"It wasn't your fault," Izuku mumbled, lowering his eyes again, "but thank you. It was just, um, a
little overwhelming."

He'd let it happen, anyway.

"It wasn't your fault, either," Izuku's teacher said. "Let's get to class. Do you need to— take a
minute?"

Izuku was already shaking his head. He'd woken up this morning jittery, and once he'd seen the
numbers on the clock he'd had to run out the door and eat on the way. A bad start to the day that
had only gotten worse. The last thing Izuku wanted was to show up even later to class, and have
everyone look at him and wonder what was wrong and what had happened.

It was over. He just wanted the rest of the day to be normal. It was over.

So Izuku walked with Aizawa-sensei to class, and put the morning's incident behind him. That
lasted a few precious, quiet minutes in the halls. Class had already begun, Izuku realized, and that
made the halls empty save for a few others running to the right places.

Aizawa-sensei opened the door, and Izuku clutched his bag and walked in. Noise bombarded him.

"Midoriya!"

"Oh, there's sensei, look."

"We were getting kind of worried, dude."

"Actually—"

Izuku shuffled to his seat as fast as he could, ducking his head to avoid the curious eyes of his
classmates. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to talk about it to anyone.

"There was a group of disruptive reporters outside the gates if you may have noticed," Aizawa-
sensei said, settling behind his desk. He glanced at Izuku but then gazed out at the entire class.
"First lesson of the day: even heroes have boundaries, even as public figures."

Izuku slumped forward in his seat a little, taking out his notebook and resigning himself to a long
day.

Homeroom ended after a few short minutes. Aizawa had spent the time doing a quick run-down of
dealing with the media. Before he left class, he went to Izuku's desk—Izuku flushed, embarrassed,
heart thrumming in his throat and air short in his lungs—and asked if he was alright.

"You kept touching your chest," Aizawa-sensei said, quiet so no curious ears could hear them.
Izuku shook his head. It was okay.

"I'm just, stressed, I think. I'm okay."

"Problem child…"

Aizawa-sensei watched him. Izuku's breathing hitched when Aizawa-sensei knocked his knuckles
against Izuku's shoulder, but then his teacher left.

Present Mic swung in for English next, but by that time Izuku already felt exhausted.

"Good morning, listeners!"

"Good morning, Mic-sensei," the class chorused. Izuku joined them, but found himself wheezing at
the end of the loud greeting. He coughed quietly into his hand; next to him, Sero glanced over and
mouthed something that Izuku thought might have been are you okay. Izuku waved him off and
smiled weakly. He rubbed at his chest. It felt a bit like his shirt was too tight, and his chest couldn't
expand all the way.

Maybe he was getting sick. It was starting to get colder. That sounded right—he'd spent the
weekend at home with Mom instead of the dorms, and they'd gone outside quite a bit. He must
have caught something. Izuku touched his chest again and then began to follow along as Mic-
sensei launched into teaching.

Izuku copied down what Mic-sensei was writing on the board, muttering the words quietly to
himself until he realized he couldn't keep going and stopped. He sucked in a breath, pulling his
chair forward and gripping his pencil tightly. After seventh period, or maybe during lunch, he'd go
sit somewhere quiet. Just long enough to recharge so he could get through the rest of the day.

He blinked. Class had ended in an instant.

Izuku glanced down at his paper, and the end of his pencil snapped against the desk. On it the
English sentences he'd lined up neatly had dissolved into the same words over and over again: How
much can you trust the people around you to help when you really need it?

How much can you trust the people around you to help?

How much can you trust the people around you?

How much can you trust?

Izuku's hands shook. Again, the prickling sensation; he stood abruptly, and his chair went rolling
back to hit Mineta's desk with a loud impact. Izuku tore the sheet from his notebook and crumpled
it. His hands were still shaky when he tottered to the front of the classroom to throw it away.

Smudged white paper dropped into the bin. Izuku tucked his hands together, ignoring the feeling
along the back of his neck that meant people were watching him. Soft chatter rose between the
seats.

Izuku could breathe again. He walked back to his desk and felt his breath shorten when he
accidentally met Kacchan's gaze, pausing by his friend's desk.

Kacchan kicked at Izuku's ankles. His ribs constricted, and Izuku scrambled to his seat. The
pressure in his chest remained as Kacchan swung around.

"What were you looking at?"

"Kacchan," Izuku sighed, shoving his broken pencil in his desk and retrieving another. Kacchan's
eye twitched. He frowned at Izuku, brows furrowing in slight confusion though Izuku had no idea
why.

"Deku…"

Kacchan narrowed his eyes, then suddenly spun himself back around to face the front, his
shoulders tense. Izuku bit his lip. Had he done something? What had Kacchan seen?

There wasn't any time to dwell on it, because math class started after that. Izuku stared at
Kacchan's back the entire time, but didn't dare lean forward or get too close. He felt uncomfortable,
loosening his tie and watching Kacchan shift in front of him. It was nothing. Kacchan didn't— he
and Kacchan were fine. They'd been joking around yesterday during homeroom, even. Izuku would
just ask him later if he could work up the nerve to.
Kacchan was just beginning to— figure things out lately. They'd talked a little. Living together in
the same dorms, even though they were practically neighbors at home anyway, had still opened up
spaces for them to just… exist. Together. Izuku wasn't going to ruin it.

When Heroics rolled around, Izuku had worked himself into a better mood. All Might was teaching
today, and that always made Izuku grin. The locker room mood was light today, almost cheerful.

"I'm ready to get back to work!" Kirishima cheered, vaulting in and immediately wiggling out of
his shirt. He cracked his knuckles. "Mondays we just sit all day. But today we get to show off our
stuff!"

Kacchan knocked Kirishima over the head on his way to his own locker.

"Don't get cocky," he warned.

"Wonder what we're doing today…"

"Hurry up," Iida called over all of them. "Everyone into their training clothes. All Might's
instructions."

No costumes today, Izuku mused. Sometimes that meant they were focusing less on running
simulations and more on other things. Sometimes Aizawa-sensei had them come in their training
uniforms for 'resourcefulness,' like situations where they lacked access to their equipment. Oh,
maybe they were training as— as civilians, or—

"Midoriya," Iida said, materializing next to him. Izuku's breath seized, and he stumbled back, then
tripped into a heap on the ground. "Ah— are you alright? I apologize for surprising… Midoriya?"

Izuku blinked up at him. Iida offered Izuku a hand up, and Izuku took it. Their hands touched,
Iida's clasping around— suddenly Izuku was suffocating. He choked. There wasn't. He couldn't.
Breathe.

He shoved Iida's hand away blindly and backed away. Distantly Izuku felt his chest rising and
falling but couldn't feel the air in his lungs; his back hit the lockers and his vision cleared. Iida was
watching with wide, worried eyes. He'd taken a few steps back; so had Izuku, and there was
distance between them now.

"So- sorry—" Izuku stammered between breaths. His head was spinning.

"Are you… alright?" Iida asked, slower this time. Blue eyes watched him from—

—behind a set of glasses—

"Fine," Izuku blurted. Behind Iida he saw that over half of the boys had already finished changing
and were gone; the others had turned at the commotion. "I'm fine. Thank you. I'm fine."

He quickly tossed on his clothes, shutting his locker and rushing out the door. Izuku didn't want to
be late again. And he wanted everyone to stop looking at him like that.

"Hey, Midoriya," Uraraka called, waving. She was standing with Todoroki, smiling, and he smiled
uneasily back. A couple of the others were standing around All Might, and Izuku spotted Aizawa-
sensei, too.

"Um, hey," Izuku said. Todoroki nodded at him. "What's- what's up?"
Uraraka shrugged. "I think we're— doing pair exercises today or something." Her eyes crinkled. "I
hope I- um, we get to work together. Oh, you, too, Todoroki— oh, hi, Iida!"

"What's this about pair work?" Iida asked, adjusting his glasses. Izuku shrank back a little when he
felt his lungs protest at how close everyone was.

"I think we're doing pair exercises!" Uraraka's hair swung as she turned to glance at All Might and
Aizawa-sensei. "Or maybe, hmm, team-building or something? It feels a bit weird without our
costumes, huh?"

Todoroki huffed lightly.

"Yeah," Izuku agreed. He felt a bit bare, and rubbed at his exposed arms. "Maybe... I don't know."

"This isn't P.E.," Todoroki pointed out, tilting his head in thought. "The curriculum is different
from Heroics. So this exercise shouldn't be simple, either."

All Might grinned at all of them. Even now, without his 'hero' form he never failed to fill the space
with his presence and his smile. Izuku felt his mouth stretch into a smile in response, feeling
lighter.

Aizawa-sensei lowered his goggles over his eyes.

"In a fight," he began, "you may not be able to use your Quirks at all times."

All Might nodded. "In some cases, using your Quirk is inefficient or even harmful — you might be
putting yourself, your fellow heroes, or civilians in danger. At other times you might find your
Quirk limited."

"We're going to be sparring today," Aizawa-sensei announced. "For the first block, we're going to
go through different techniques to make sure you know how to fight and how to defend yourself. In
the second block, each of you will be paired off and will practice hand-to-hand combat without
Quirks."

Uraraka clapped in excitement. Todoroki looked calm. Izuku had gotten better at reading him, but
this time as far as Izuku could tell, Todoroki seemed self-confident. He must have trained a lot in
fighting as well, Izuku thought.

They'd done some exercises in fighting a few times, so everyone knew at least some basics. Izuku
could throw a few punches, but this was a good idea. There was always room for improvement.

All Might slipped off his jacket. He was— almost Quirkless now, but there was still a roiling
power behind his movements. Still strong. He couldn't do anything like he used to, but… he was
still a hero. Izuku watched him carefully even as the class was split and given mats, set apart from
each other so they could work on drills.

Aizawa-sensei demonstrated. They practiced. After a few times All Might went around, student to
student, talking quietly and gesturing.

Izuku threw a punch against an invisible opponent, careful of where his weight was resting. He
struck forward again, faster this time but less steady. All Might came to him next, watching from
the edge of the mat as Izuku tried again.

"Move your foot a little," All Might said, stepping forward onto the mat. Izuku dropped his arms
slightly, feeling out of breath though they'd just started the period. "And your chest, here— may I?"
Izuku was nodding before he even knew what All Might meant. Then All Might took a step closer,
hand touching Izuku's chest and adjusting how Izuku was carrying himself.

The air vanished.

I can't breathe.

The crushing feeling in his lungs stopped when All Might lifted his hand again, then gestured for
Izuku to move his leg back. And lightened again when All Might stepped off the mat completely,
breathing returning to normal as Izuku tried again.

"Better," All Might said. "Now…"

He stepped back onto the mat, and Izuku felt his ribs lock like the bars of a cage. Something
wiggled in the back of Izuku's mind, some distant thought about— about— space, but—

"I heard from Aizawa about what happened this morning," All Might continued in a low voice. He
tapped Izuku's arm, brought it up higher, and Izuku's lungs burst into flames. Izuku gasped, trying
to listen over the feeling of suffocating. "I'm sorry about what happ—"

"Can we," Izuku rasped. He hurriedly took a step backward, drawing his arms back up to position
and— he was blocking All Might, he thought, he was— because he couldn't breathe.

All Might gave him a concerned, surprised look as Izuku struggled to catch his breath. It had
happened so fast. The moment All Might had stepped in close Izuku had just forgotten what it felt
like to take air in.

"I'll talk to you later," All Might told him, quietly. Just for the two of them. "I know it's difficult,
my boy."

And now Izuku felt guilty. He'd pushed All Might away, and now All Might was drawing back.
Izuku hadn't meant to. He'd just needed the space.

"You're doing well. Keep going, young Midoriya. Tell me if you're not feeling up to anything,
okay?"

Izuku bowed his head. He felt suddenly ashamed that he wasn't doing well at all. That- that- that
the reporter had shaken him up this morning and Izuku hadn't recovered. And All Might was
asking him if he wasn't feeling up to anything.

Twenty minutes left, the clock on the wall said.

All Might was still watching, like he was waiting for a response or something.

"Um. Yeah." Terrible. "Yeah. Sure. I'm okay."

"Alright," All Might said slowly, like he was still waiting. But Izuku trained his gaze forward
again, watching the students in front of him and mechanically going through the movements again.

And that was that.

Everyone was sweaty and tired as they were let out for lunch.

"That was harder than I thought," Kaminari complained. "I'm starving."

"Oh, dude, Bakugou brought more of those snacks you liked," Kirishima said, slugging Kaminari's
arm. "I peeked—"

"Oi," Kacchan yelled. He jabbed a finger in Kirishima's face. Kirishima didn't even flinch. "No
one's getting anything unless you can beat me when we spar."

Kaminari slumped to the locker room floor. "Dreaming will get me closer to snacking than fighting
will."

"Or you could get changed and go to lunch," Sero called. "You know that's an option."

Izuku walked in quietly behind them, mind churning. He'd been left alone for the rest of the period
to practice. It'd given him time to think, and in the fluorescent lighting of the gym he'd caught sight
of the wrist where he'd been grabbed. Nothing remained there, not even pale crescent marks where
her nails had dug in.

But Izuku had still felt it. Her hand. Even when he couldn't see her, even when she was gone, even
when Aizawa-sensei became a soothing pillar of black between them—Izuku's wrist, still caught in
hers. Still connected.

He changed as fast as he could. No one noticed as Izuku slipped out, making his way to the
lunchroom. Izuku wasn't hungry. In line, he gasped for air silently.

"Midoriya," Todoroki said, sitting down next to Izuku. "How are you?"

Izuku felt his chest constrict, and shoved his rice away. He focused on breathing. In. Out. Todoroki
wasn't that close, but he was close enough so that if Izuku moved they could bump shoulders.

"Okay," Izuku said. In. Out.

It wasn't working. Telling himself to breathe— it wasn't working. He sucked in another breath as
slowly as he could, but his lungs stuttered halfway through the attempt.

Todoroki didn't say anything else, and that made Izuku grateful. He smiled, and it felt genuine this
time even though his chest was aching.

"If you need anything," Todoroki offered, lifting a shoulder. Then he ate, and Izuku shut his eyes
for a moment.

"Thank you."

Uraraka plopped down across from Izuku a moment later. She was all breathless and laughing, and
Izuku looked up. She looked happy. Iida followed, frowning.

"You shouldn't run," he started.

"I hear class president voice," someone shouted from a table over, and everyone who'd heard
laughed.

"Alright, well," Iida said, going a bit pink. But he smiled.

Under the table Uraraka's knees brushed against his. Izuku jerked back. An invisible lance slotted
between his ribs. He breathed in tightly. Todoroki's shoulder—a pass, but Izuku felt the touch
ignite something. His hand began to shake.

"Quirks," Izuku blurted out. Iida blinked curiously at them. Izuku was running out of air, but he
needed them— he needed to distract himself— he— "What do you guys think… about… Quirks
with, um."

Breathe, breathe.

"I don't know…" He shifted towards the edge of the seat. "Um, like, fluctuating."

"Hmm," Uraraka said, "like, in strength? Or effectiveness?"

She tapped the top of her spoon against her mouth.

"Er, yeah. Quirks that interact with… I mean, um, do you guys think… it's like the influence of a
Quirk that might break with, um, more exposure, or if it's affecting more- more- more—"

"People?" Todoroki asked. He blinked once, slowly, and Izuku thought, ah. Like Stain. "You could
think about it like a zone."

He forgot about breathing. "A zone?"

Space. Izuku narrowed his eyes. Space—

"I was reading an article the other day," Todoroki explained, "some Quirks work with, say, an
effective radius."

He put down a grain of rice on the table, then used his finger to draw an invisible circle around it.
Izuku inched closer so he could see better, and his lungs began screaming for air.

"Sometimes a person's Quirk can only influence the people in this radius, see," Todoroki said,
"remember, we were talking the other day when everyone finished their work in Computer Tech. A
drawback. And out here, near the edge of the zone, the effects of the Quirk are weaker, and the
closer you get to the person—this grain of rice—"

"The stronger…"

Izuku's hand knocked against Todoroki's arm. A second of contact. He choked on nothing, then
began to cough. He reached up for his shirt, tried to, moved back, tried, breathed, stood.

"Midoriya?"

"I—"

Uraraka touched his arm in concern. Todoroki moved closer. Iida's brows were creased in worry.
His glasses glinted. Izuku coughed, and coughed. It hurt. His insides seized. He grabbed his tray,
the plates sliding, and bolted. The plates and his lungs rattled with each breath.

His body took him through the motions. He dumped his trash, returned his tray. Then Izuku was
bolting out of the lunchroom, away from people, away from everyone. Empty space. Open air.

Empty space. Open air.

A zone.

His heart was racing. He'd run too fast; Izuku straightened and— he was outside. He didn't
remember coming here.

Are you comfortable around them?

He'd panicked. Ran.

The breathing now was just— just Izuku, just fear. He'd stopped being able to think once the others
had gotten close. He'd stopped being able to breathe. He'd seen the looks on their faces.

Izuku was— Izuku had—

Suddenly it began to make sense. The crowd of reporters. The discomfort all morning seated in
class. Aizawa-sensei. Iida helping him up. All Might touching his chest. The feeling of too close,
the feeling of can't breathe, what Izuku had chalked down to stress and nerves and- and-

He shoved his face in his hands. Izuku didn't cry. He felt like it, but instead Izuku counted down
from ten. Too close, and Izuku would suffocate. Far enough, and he could breathe. There was no
one here to hinder him… there was no Quirk here to hinder him.

I hope you find the answer to my question.

That reporter… her Quirk. How could—

Izuku trembled. How could he feel comfortable around them if he couldn't breathe? How could
anyone help him if reaching out made Izuku choke?

But now it made sense, Izuku could solve it. He was good with Quirks; he just hadn't realized he'd
been… under the influence of one. Contact-based. A mental effect—or physical, or both. Usually
these things had a time limit.

He straightened.

Izuku just had to tough it out. He wasn't going to die or anything. Based on what Izuku remembered
feeling, it was just worse when other people were in his personal space, or touching him. Even in
class, the students around him made him— uncomfortable, but it was tolerable. Izuku just had to
keep everyone at arm's length for a while until the Quirk's effects passed.

After class he'd decline from joining the usual study session; then he'd just go to his room. If
anyone asked, he wasn't feeling well.

Which he wasn't.

And then… maybe tomorrow Izuku would wake up and find himself able to breathe. At its worst,
the effect would take a few days to pass, but Izuku hadn't heard of anything that lasted beyond that.

But—

He'd have to be careful. Izuku couldn't tell anyone. His friends were worried. And then they would
ask too many questions, and get too close. And the teachers would notice. And then Izuku would
get in trouble, and someone would ask what was wrong, and— how could Izuku admit that he'd
been vulnerable? That he was a hero-in-training but a reporter had found a weakness in his armor?
That he'd let her catch him, let her stay long enough to use her Quirk on him?

Everyone already thought Izuku was a problem.

While everyone was training to be a hero he'd had to run twice as fast in a desperate bid to catch up,
to learn how to control his Quirk. He couldn't handle his own Quirk. He couldn't handle villains.
He couldn't handle a simple reporter.
Izuku bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. She was just— she was just a reporter.

"Young Midoriya?"

Izuku started. "All- All Might!"

"I hope I'm not intruding," All Might said, and Izuku shook his head, though he was already
watching warily. All Might stopped about an arm's length away, and Izuku quietly noted how the
end of his breaths seemed to trail.

"No, you're- it's okay."

All Might smiled, and that alone made Izuku feel better.

"You weren't in the lunchroom."

Izuku ducked his head. "I ate, um, and then I thought I'd come outside for a little bit. Before class
starts. Again."

"Nice weather, hm?" All Might tipped his head back and scanned the sky. He was quiet for a
moment as he collected his thoughts, then continued. "Now that we can talk— I'm sorry. I heard
what happened this morning."

But he didn't know. Aizawa-sensei didn't know, either.

"I should have stopped her," Izuku said, before he could think.

"You couldn't have expected it," All Might responded. His voice was kind. "Young Midoriya, you
know the press—the media is not always… as respectful as they should be. To heroes, or
otherwise."

"It won't happen again," Izuku said firmly. All Might turned. Izuku only realized he'd moved when
his breathing turned shallow.

"It could," All Might said. "It might. Some things you can't control. And some reporters have no
sense of, ah…"

"My comfort zone?" Izuku suggested. He laughed lightly, but it made his chest ache.

"Mmm. Yes, that's a good phrase for it." All Might sighed. "I know you might think her grabbing
onto you is innocuous enough, or perhaps you got out of the incident with little harm."

Izuku almost laughed. He turned it into a cough, and then felt his chest catch on it, and coughed
harder. It echoed through his chest. Pain shot upwards from his lungs.

All Might reached over and patted Izuku on the back, stepping closer, and Izuku grasped the front
of his shirt. He coughed. It seemed to well from deep inside of him; in between Izuku tried to draw
air through his lungs, but it didn't work. His body began to shake.

"Mi- Midoriya?"

"Wait," Izuku wheezed. He had to get it under control—it was so hard—and his chest rattled, and
rattled. Finally Izuku drew in a breath long enough to stop coughing even though it burned in the
back of his throat. All Might's hand on his back was both painful and warm, running down his
spine then back up. It was gentle. It hurt. It was so gentle. And Izuku thought, I'd suffer for this.
"Are you sick?" All Might was frowning; no, Izuku didn't want him to look like that. "Do you need
to go see Recovery Girl? I can write you a note…"

"No!" The word burst from his mouth even as it drained him of breath. He shook from the effort.
All Might's hand stayed where it was. "No, no, I'm just having an off day but I really want to go to
class and-"

He'd run out of air, but All Might seemed to understand.

"I meant what I said, you know," All Might murmured. Izuku blinked at the ground, his eyes
watering—he didn't know why, maybe it was because his chest was hurting, his lungs collapsing
in on themselves, like they were filling with water and being crushed at the same time. "I'm here. If
you need me to be. If you want me to be."

"I-" Breathe. Breathe. "I want…"

All Might wrapped his arms around Izuku, and Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel the air
catching in his chest, and then he couldn't feel air at all. He screwed his eyes shut tighter as
dizziness swooped in and the weight of a thousand stones weighed on his chest, but—

—but over it he could still feel All Might, arms around him, and Izuku hurt so much he couldn't
bear to let go for just a moment later.

"Class is starting soon," All Might rumbled, and Izuku felt his voice reverberate through his chest.
"We should go, if you still want to attend."

Izuku couldn't speak. He could hardly feel air pass his lips as All Might let go, and Izuku swayed.

All Might began to stride away. Izuku's legs were weak, but he managed not to pass out. It was
easier now there was distance. As they walked, Izuku made sure to keep the distance between
them.

There was just one problem with Izuku's plan.

He realized it as he walked into class and remembered they were having sparring practice, and
wondered if it was too late to ask to go see Recovery Girl. But Aizawa-sensei was already pairing
off students, and Izuku couldn't just back out because it would be weird. And everyone would think
he was just trying to get out of class.

Sparring. Hand-to-hand combat. Like developing fighting skills in a close-range situation.

"Midoriya," and across the room Izuku's gaze snapped over to meet Kacchan's eyes, like they both
knew— "Bakugou."

"Fucking great," Kacchan grumbled, marching over. He raked his eyes up and down Izuku's figure,
then sank back, ready. "Don't we spar enough?"

Izuku snorted. "That's probably why."

They'd taken to sparring together to train. Not very often, maybe once or twice a week when they
could fit it in—Izuku had annoyed Kacchan until he'd given in. Sometimes with Quirks, sometimes
without, and with whichever teacher was available to supervise. But this class… maybe it was to
see how much they'd grown, and changed.

They were good at reading each other, but it made sparring a challenge now. Izuku watched
carefully, forgetting about everything but the feeling of the mat under his feet and the slight shift of
Kacchan's left foot. Back. Izuku twisted out of the way of two quick, short punches.

He couldn't let Kacchan touch him. Already his body was straining to keep up as Kacchan moved
mercilessly. Defense, not offense.

Izuku spent moment after moment tracking Kacchan's movements and moving out of the way.
Kacchan's fist glanced off of Izuku's shoulder, and his chest constricted. Sweat ran down Izuku's
back.

"Stop—" Kacchan moved faster. More erraticly. A trickle of fear shot up his spine. "Deku, what
the hell is wrong with you today—"

Izuku dove forward, under Kacchan's arms, and twisted around to face him. He was gasping.

"Why aren't you— fighting!"

Izuku saw it coming. He couldn't move; something awful slowed his response. He took one step
back, but it wasn't enough to stop Kacchan from tackling him. They went down in a mass of flying
color. Izuku saw the flash of blue uniform as a fist came down. He rolled. Kacchan grabbed his
arm, and Izuku's vision fizzled.

They grappled. The weight on Izuku's chest grew heavier, and heavier. He wheezed in a breath.
The pressure on Izuku's arm. He stopped thinking and lashed out, knee ramming upwards. There
was a shout, a slight release—Izuku gasped for air. There wasn't any. There wasn't any air.

His ribs were hurting. His chest was. He couldn't. He couldn't breathe. He forced air into his lungs.
He couldn't feel it.

He needed to breathe. Izuku could see Kacchan's face—

—Kacchan saw something, Kacchan pulling away as Izuku thrashed. Breathe. Breathe.

"...Deku?"

His name, like sinking through water. He breathed in. Couldn't keep up. Fire burst in his chest, hot
coals tumbling down, ash coating his insides. A feeling like his chest was being pierced.
Something wet trickled down the side of his face.

Izuku gasped. "Plea-"

"Deku!"

He gasped again, and then pain lanced through him as he began to choke. Izuku curled inwards,
blocking his chest— please he just wanted to breathe, he just wanted air, he just needed. Coughing
ravaged him, tearing through his entire body like a shaking storm.

"Is he—"

"—choking—"

Air. Please. Air.

"Ge-" he rasped, and the attempt made his chest cave inwards. He shook. Someone laid a hand on
his arm, and Izuku made a sound of pain, and they kept touching him, and he flung his arm out
blindly, pleading—
He couldn't… he stopped feeling—

Air. Air. Air.

He was going to die. Air, he was dying, please, please help, please, air…

"Get away from him! Everyone out!"

Something cleared. Izuku shook and trembled and curled a hand towards himself. His chest
cramped; he gasped when he was moved, like a knife slipping through his back. But there was air.
He was breathing.

Izuku could still feel himself shaking and gasping. His legs jerked.

"Midoriya."

A voice, cool and calm. Izuku latched onto it. His body moved without him telling it; he took in a
short breath, followed by another.

"Midoriya, can you hear me."

He panted. A noise passed briefly through his lips.

"Easy… just take a breath. In… and out."

Izuku pulled his knees up. He breathed. He felt the rhythm and struggled to catch up. He couldn't
do it. But Aizawa-sensei's voice rocked over him—in, out, in, out. When he could breathe again he
started to cry, hiccuping until he lost his breath to the sobs that wracked him. Izuku had felt like he
was dying. His chest had been carved into. He felt his arm move until he could cry into it, sleeve
going damp.

"Midoriya, can you hear me?" Again.

His shoulders shook. It made his body ache.

"Ye-"

Izuku shuddered, wheezing. Aizawa-sensei—Izuku felt him move closer, felt it in the way a
stabbing pain made itself known. He threw an arm out, crying again, and through his blurry vision
he saw Aizawa-sensei stop.

"Ple- please," he croaked. "No- no…"

Aizawa-sensei shifted back in one fluid, quick movement. The look on his face was stricken.

But Izuku wanted…

"Sensei," Izuku whimpered. He heaved in a breath. And before Izuku could stop, he felt himself
unfurl like a plant towards the sun, and reached his arm across the cold floor.

Aizawa-sensei carefully took Izuku's hand, and contact made pain reared its head. Izuku took in an
unsteady breath— he choked out a sob, and felt his body shudder fully.

"Sen- sensei…"

"Midoriya," Aizawa-sensei said, voice soft, "can I come closer?"

He flinched. Aizawa-sensei let go of his hand and drew back, but Izuku thought it made everything
worse even if it hurt less. He whined, too tired to be embarrassed, and Aizawa-sensei took his hand
again. Izuku shut his eyes and tried to disconnect the feeling of the hand in his from the feeling of
invisible rope around him pulling tight.

He blinked, swallowing against a dry throat. "It hurts…"

"I know." He felt confused. "I know, Midoriya. I'm going to take you to Recovery Girl in a
moment. Do you think you can handle that?"

Izuku groaned. He slid his fingers along his ribs. The pressure built. How long had Aizawa-sensei
been there, kneeling, holding his hand? Light bloomed behind his eyes.

"It hurts," he said again. He wanted someone to hold him. No one could. Izuku stopped being able
to breathe again, but words slid out between his attempts. "Sensei, it hurts."

He pulled his own hand away, curling away from Aizawa-sensei. Pulled in a deeper, more even
breath.

Aizawa-sensei was silent, but Izuku was afraid of looking. He didn't know what he would see. Or if
it would hurt.

"Am I," Aizawa-sensei began, "hurting you?"

Izuku didn't know if it counted. In. Out.

"No," the word came out in a whisper. Then, even quieter, "yes."

He heard Aizawa-sensei take in a sharp breath. Izuku followed, slower.

"Does it hurt now?"

"No." His chest throbbed. He whined. "Yes. Yes. But- less."

"Can you move?"

Izuku tried. He shoved a hand under his chest and pushed up, struggling. His arm shook. Aizawa-
sensei went to help him but stopped short when Izuku made a strangled noise. It took him achingly
long, but Izuku sat up. He was shaking and sweaty.

"I thought I- I thought…"

Flashes of memory and light. A stabbing pain like it had been killing him. And a choking fear that
was worse than any Quirk could do to him.

"Do you think you can walk?"

The thought of standing alone made him lightheaded. He shook his head.

Aizawa-sensei was careful. "Can you handle being cared?"

"I don't know," Izuku mumbled. "Not… not good…"

"Let's try standing," Aizawa-sensei said, and Izuku paled but nodded shakily. Out of range, he felt
— better. Not great, but maybe it would be enough for him to get up.
It took an eternity. He got to his feet and almost fell over. Aizawa-sensei caught him, and then
Izuku did fall, doubling over himself as his vision tunneled and the air left his lungs. He heard
himself saying something but didn't know what until the only thought was left was that he wanted
to breathe.

He went weightless. Something warm enveloped him, but then the pain started again. Izuku sucked
in air. He coughed, clawing at his chest. Fabric gave way under his fingers but he still couldn't get
enough air.

Air.

Blood roared in his ears. Izuku thrashed. He gasped desperately, searching. And then his lungs
opened, the pain just beginning to recede. The tightness in his chest loosened, and when he could
he sobbed in relief.

"Is he—"

Izuku coiled his limbs inward. Please. Please.

"You can't… you're going to hurt him if you move closer."

He placed All Might's voice next to Aizawa-sensei's.

"What happened?"

Recovery Girl. Izuku forced his eyes open, alarmed when he heard her footsteps, and shrank back
into the bed when he saw her approach. If she came closer it would hurt again. He didn't want to
hurt again.

"I have a suspicion, but…"

Recovery Girl bent a little so she could peer at his eyes. He blinked back at her.

"I can't come closer," she said, standing near the next bed in the infirmary, and Izuku shook his
head. "Can you breathe?"

"Yeah," he whispered. And to reassure himself he took in a breath. Let it out. And again. And
again. Uneven, but there.

"Alright, then," Recovery Girl said, straightening. She crossed her arms. "Let me know if you need
anything, or if you start hurting again. Usually I'd like to check you over, but if it's going to hurt
you more… at least for now…"

Izuku shifted his gaze. He turned his head so he was partly hidden by the pillow, pressing his
cheek into the soft material.

"There's nothing we could do?"

Izuku could feel his body relaxing. Everyone was far enough away that he was beginning to
breathe fine, the echoes of pain becoming more and more faint and faraway.

"I'm not sure this is a… health problem," Aizawa-sensei said. He crouched next to the bed, keeping
his distance. "Midoriya?"

Izuku hummed.
"Do you know what caused this?"

His mouth trembled. Izuku didn't want to say, shame pooling in his gut. But Aizawa-sensei didn't
look angry or upset. Just patient. Waiting. He opened his mouth, and then closed it.

Receding footsteps, and then it was just the two of them again.

"Will you tell me?"

Izuku cracked. He was tired. He remembered the feeling of his lungs caving, and said, "A…
Quirk."

"Not yours."

He didn't respond.

"How long?"

Izuku covered his face, and said, "This morning."

Aizawa-sensei was silent. Izuku shivered. It wasn't a good sign. It made Izuku feel like he'd done
something wrong—

"Was it the reporter?"

His hand found his chest. In. Out. "Yes…"

"Thank you for telling me."

"But… sensei…"

Aizawa-sensei was looking at him when Izuku finally dared to uncover his face.

"Do you think this is your fault, Midoriya?"

"I let her," Izuku said. His wrist prickled. Something wet—a tear—slipped down his cheek. "I let
her. I let her."

"You didn't," Aizawa-sensei said, voice firm. But he was still talking in that sort of low, gentle
voice that made Izuku feel safer. Better. "She stopped you. She used her Quirk against you. And
she hurt you, and made us hurt you. Do you understand? It's not your fault that you're hurting."

Izuku pressed his lips together.

"Alright, Midoriya?"

"I just wanted to breathe," Izuku said brokenly, and Aizawa-sensei's face softened a fraction. "I
couldn't. I couldn't."

"You're alright," Aizawa-sensei said, "you're safe. You can breathe."

He nodded, trying to believe it.

"I'll find her."

"What if she hurts you?"

Aizawa-sensei smiled. "She won't be able to." Then he paused, and said somberly, "She already
has."

He must have looked confused, because Aizawa-sensei sighed. "She put one of my students in
danger and in pain, and when I want to help, things get worse."

"Oh," Izuku mumbled.

"Rest."

He blinked slowly. Rest sounded— nice. But…

"Don't—" Izuku's voice cracked. "Please don't leave. Sensei."

Aizawa-sensei shook his head. "I'm not. I'm not leaving."

Sleep evaded him. In his dreams he was in the water, drowning, clawing at the surface. Fire pulsed
in his chest. And then he was under a bridge, and something thick and viscous was forcing itself
around him, closing around him, a soft voice in his ear—

"Midoriya!"

He woke up coughing. Izuku wheezed. Fear shot through his veins like ice.

"Midoriya, you're fine, you're safe, there's air… do you hear me?" His chest constricted, but it was
just him. Izuku looked up and saw Aizawa-sensei standing away from him, arm outstretched. Their
eyes met.

"You're alright. You can breathe."

He could. And then he couldn't, and Izuku wrapped his arms around himself and heaved air in and
out.

"Am I too close?"

"I don't know."

Aizawa-sensei moved a little further away. Some of it had been him. The rest had been Izuku
himself.

"I want," Izuku muttered, "this to be over."

"Soon," Aizawa-sensei said, "I promise, Midoriya. It'll be over soon."

"Will… will you stay?"

"As long as you need me to," Aizawa-sensei told him. "And I will be whatever you need me to be."

Izuku licked his lips and smiled tentatively. "Do I have to do the homework?"

Aizawa-sensei rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched in amusement. "Do you want me to answer
that, brat?"

Izuku laughed, and he found this time it didn't hurt.

"You're touching your chest again," Aizawa-sensei noted. Izuku blinked. He hadn't realized.
 "She… she asked me…" He didn't have to say who she was, "if I was… um, comfortable. If I could
trust… if I could trust the people around me to help me if I- I- when I needed it."

Izuku swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I think I know the answer." He glanced sideways
at Aizawa-sensei and thought of the reporter taking his wrist, Aizawa-sensei taking his hand. Even
though it hurt. "Tha- thank you, sensei. For staying."

Aizawa-sensei nodded. The light from the window shifted and became softer.

"As long as you need," he said again, and lapsed into a quiet. In it Izuku could hear himself
breathing slowly and steadily, and unafraid. And Aizawa-sensei did stay—a long, long time—until
Izuku's hand lowered from his chest, and he could take a full breath, and the fear and hurt
following him had subsided and gone as easy as disappearing air.

End Notes

fun fact: breath/breathe shows up 67 times in this fic. aw yeah.

Aradow—I hope you like this little gift I put together! Thanks for always encouraging &
supporting me.

And another special thank you and nod to pdanno, who listened to 1) me ramble about
Quirk ideas 2) laugh until I couldn't breathe, because everything I know about BNHA is a
lie.

please tip me in comments

*This fic was created as part of a Secret Santa exchange in my Discord server! Check us out
:^)

If you want to keep up with me:

Tumblr
Discord - Annie's Angst Association

Works inspired by this one

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!