It happened in an instant.

A crowded hallway. A stranger brushing past. A flicker of light. And then everything changed.

Izuku Midoriya—the boy who once stammered through every sentence, who apologized for breathing too loudly, who smiled even when his hands were trembling—was gone.

In his place stood someone else.

Cold. Sharp. Arrogant.

He looked at his classmates like they were beneath him, like they were obstacles rather than friends. He cursed under his breath, rolled his eyes at teachers, and when someone got too close, he lashed out—his quirk flaring with reckless force.

It didn’t take long before Aizawa stepped in.

The staff had no choice. For everyone’s safety—including Izuku’s—they locked him away in a reinforced room deep beneath UA’s training facility. Maximum security. No windows. No visitors.

They said it was temporary.

That the quirk would wear off.

But no one knew when.

And in the meantime, the boy who once cried over hurting villains was now pacing behind reinforced glass, eyes narrowed, mouth curled in a permanent scowl.

He didn’t ask for anyone.

Didn’t want to see anyone.

Didn’t even flinch when they told him he’d be isolated until further notice.

But what they didn’t know—what you knew—was that somewhere beneath that cold exterior, the real Izuku was still there. Trapped. Watching. Waiting.

And you couldn’t stay away.

Because you remembered the boy who once held your hand when you were scared. The one who believed in heroes with every fiber of his being. The one who looked at you like you were part of his reason to keep fighting.

Now, he looked at everyone like they were disposable.

But you refused to believe that was all he had become.

So you stood outside the door, fists clenched, heart pounding, knowing you weren’t supposed to be there.

And inside, Izuku sat on the floor, head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed.

Until he sensed you.

He opened one eye, and for a moment, something flickered—confusion, recognition, something softer.

Then it was gone.

“Tch. What, did they send you to babysit me now?” he muttered, voice low and venom-laced.

You didn’t answer.

You just stepped closer to the glass, refusing to flinch.

Because no matter how far he’d fallen, you weren’t going to leave him behind.

Not now.

Not ever.