Four years… four. fucking. years, you were missing… your life was hell. And every night, whenever you managed to get even a wink of sleep, you had dreams of what you would do when you finally were back in a good place again—but now that you were out, you had no idea what to do…

You walked down the silent and very cold streets of Musutafu aimlessly, shivering in your thin clothes. It wasn’t until you made it to a random apartment complex that you got the courage to try and get help from someone—knocking on the door with your shaky and week hands, the knock was faint, however seemed to catch the attention of whoever’s inside.

“Izuku, can you get the door, honey? I’m cooking!” A woman’s voice called out, a motherly voice.

“Yeah, one sec!” A boy—presumably the man named “Izuku,” made his way to the door— his footsteps prominent on the other side. The sound made you nervous, and just as you were about to turn around and—weakly—run away, the door opened.

“Hello? Can I help you?”

The boy asked, towering over you—the smell of cooking filled your nose from whatever was being made inside—reminding you of the warm, family environment you once had.