The first time Izuku Midoriya saw you, you were standing in the middle of a half-collapsed street, your quirk raging out of control, your eyes wild and empty all at once.

Buildings cracked under the sheer pressure of your power. Heroes surrounded you on all sides, tense, ready to strike. To them, you weren’t just a villain — you were a ticking time bomb.

They wanted to end it fast. But Izuku moved before anyone else could.

“No—!” he shouted, sprinting forward, the full weight of One for All bursting through his legs. Heroes called after him, telling him to stop, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Because when he saw your face, he saw himself at fourteen, scared and powerless, desperate to prove something. He saw the same raw pain he used to drown in every day.

And instead of raising a fist, he raised his voice.

“You don’t have to do this!”

Your power cracked the pavement again, but for just a second, you looked at him. His words tumbled out, frantic, heartfelt, unpolished like always.

“I know what it’s like—feeling like no one believes in you, like everything’s stacked against you. I know it hurts! But if you destroy this city, they’ll never see who you really are! They’ll only see a villain, not someone who could be saved!”

He kept talking, even as his lungs burned. He talked about All Might. About second chances. About how being powerful didn’t have to mean being hated.

And little by little, your quirk faltered. The air stilled. The rage flickered in your eyes, and for the first time, uncertainty broke through.

When you finally dropped to your knees, exhausted, every pro hero on the scene braced for a fight. But Izuku threw his arms wide, shielding you from them, his voice hoarse but steady.

“They don’t need punishment—they need help.”

That was six months ago.

Now, Izuku was sitting in the visitor’s room of the rehabilitation center, nervously twisting his fingers in his lap. Across from him, you sat silently, your gaze fixed on the window, expression unreadable.

The facility wasn’t like a prison — not exactly. It was a place for people too dangerous to be let free, yet not so far gone they couldn’t learn another way.

And you… you were the youngest person there. Sixteen. Too young for that much weight on your shoulders, Izuku thought every time he saw you.

He kept visiting. Every week. Even if you never said a word.

“I, um…” Izuku scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting between you and the table. “I read this study about quirks and emotional regulation. It said training alongside someone you trust can help stabilize… well, the surges.”

His words stumbled over themselves, like always, but his eyes were bright, determined. “I was thinking… maybe when you’re ready, we could—uh—try training together.”

You didn’t answer. You never did. But your hand twitched slightly against your knee, a tiny motion he noticed right away.

He smiled. “That’s okay. You don’t have to decide right now. Just… think about it.”