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Shota watched Hizashi’s eyes follow Izuku out of the room before settling back on him. They weren’t going to be happy about this, were they?
“What was that?” they asked cautiously, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Izuku’s room.
“I told him he has to pick a therapist before offices open tomorrow,” he answered honestly.
They set the take-out bags down on the table so that they could use both hands to exasperatedly scrub at their face.
“It couldn’t have waited until after dinner?” they asked after taking a deep breath.
“It could wait for a number of things, but it has been waiting too long. There was an opportunity to bring it up, and I took it.”
They sighed, but they didn’t disagree. They just sat down heavily in their seat and started sorting Izuku’s food out. Shota didn’t say anything as they took the food and abandoned glass of water to the kid's room, instead he busied himself with pulling up a page of reviews for each of the therapists on the list Yagi had vetted for them. There likely wasn’t a bad option; whatever process All Might’s team went through to whittle down thousands of practitioners into a handful of names most certainly took out any bad apples, but he was still going to check himself.
He plugged away at his research throughout dinner, and Hizashi didn’t say anything. He was waiting to get chewed out for handling the situation with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, but it never came.
“Thank you,” they said instead.
He must have made a questioning face at them because they explained without prompting.
“Done is better than perfect. We’re teachers, how many times have we said that?” they asked.
“Too many times to count.”
“Exactly. It’s never going to be perfect, and I was letting myself get bogged down by that for too long. I think too much and do too little sometimes. It was stressing me out, and now it’s done. He didn’t seem too upset anyway.”
He just hummed in acknowledgement before turning his computer toward them so that they could read the reviews he’d pulled up.
“Ah, I was wondering what you were working on. I already looked into them myself. Did you have one you were leaning toward?”
“Difficult to say since they’re the cream of the crop, but I was thinking… uh,” he paused to look back at the screen and make sure he had the right name, “Tsuda Suzume.”
Zashi smiled at that, and he knew they had come to the same conclusion.
“I was thinking the same– ‘a good sense of humor,’” Zashi quoted the review that had won him over.
“Well, I hope that review was reliable if we’re both basing our decision on it,” he remarked.
“I think the selection Yagi went through was enough to get someone good, the rest is just preference. I’ve got a good feeling about her,” they reassured.
***
Izuku wished that Eraser wasn’t so true to his word sometimes. The next morning at the breakfast table, they asked if he had made a decision on what therapist he wanted to see. He hadn’t even looked, half because he didn’t care and half because looking made it feel too real. He was sure he would hate it either way, so it didn’t make a difference to him; they could stick him with whatever poor unfortunate soul they felt like sticking him with.
Unfortunately for him, the poor unfortunate soul they chose had an open spot due to a cancellation the very next day. He’s not sure what he could have possibly done to have mentally prepared himself for this meeting, but 24 hours was less time than he would have preferred. It felt like one moment he was storming away from the dinner table, and the next he was being ushered into an uncomfortable chair in the waiting room of some fancy-looking office.
Mic and Eraser had gone in first like they were his bodyguards to talk to the lady who was even shorter than he was; the two of them towered over her as she gave him a pleasant greeting and promised to be back for him soon. The moment the door shut behind them, he had the overwhelming urge to book it out of the building, but he didn’t. He stayed put like he was told, and did his best to ignore the way it felt like his skin was crawling.
What were they talking about? Him, obviously, but why? Were they telling her everything like Eraser had with Nedzu and Tsukauchi the day he got caught? Were they warning her about him? Were they giving her the weirdest shovel talk ever? He wanted to know as much as he didn’t. He tried to focus on the fact that the longer they talked to her, the more of his appointment time he wouldn’t have to participate in, and not the questions burning a hole through his head.
All too soon, the door opened again, and the three of them walked out. The expressions they wore didn’t tell him anything. Eraser was as stoic as ever, Mic was giving them a reassuring smile, and Tsuda-san had something akin to a blank, lifeless customer service grin on her face, something that was meant to disarm, but ultimately held no substance.
Eraser rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment in passing, but they didn’t exchange any words. Tsuda-san led him back to her office, and he sat down on the overly plush couch she gestured for him to take.
“Hello, Midoriya. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Tsuda Suzume, you can call me Tsuda, or if you’re not comfortable with that, we can come up with something else,” she offered.
“‘s fine,” he replied quickly, he honestly didn’t care.
“Good, and your intake form says I should call you Midoriya, is that right?”
He nodded.
“Alright, so, Midoriya, what brings you in to see me today?” Tsuda-san asked pleasantly.
His first inclination was to say ‘a car’ or ‘a court order,’ but he had enough practice in biting his tongue that he thankfully didn’t. His second inclination was to say he was forced here, but that was rude, so he bit that down as well.
He didn’t know this woman, he didn’t trust her. Sure, he had read all the clauses about doctor-patient confidentiality, he knew that if she wanted to keep her job, she wouldn’t breathe a word about anything he said to anyone, but he still didn’t trust her. Old habits die hard, he supposed. He knew she wouldn’t be reporting back to Mic and Eraser, but this still felt like a test he could fail.
There were so many reasons he should tell her the truth, and the only reason he had to lie now was that he wanted to; it felt safer. However, Izuku Midoriya was not generally known for selecting the safest path in life, so there was no reason to start now, was there? Everything was going to come out eventually anyway.
“My dad hated me, he fled the prefecture after almost killing me when I was seven, my mom covered up for him until she found out he died of an OD, and left me when I was nearly twelve. I was homeless for four years until my teacher found out, and now I live with him,” he blurted out.
Tsuda-san’s eyebrows rose, and she blinked once or twice before they lowered.
“Well, that was… impressively succinct,” she replied.
“No point beating around the bush, is there?” he shot back more testily than he had intended.
“No, I suppose not,” she paused for a moment and considered him before she spoke again, “I take it you don’t want to be here?”
He looked down at his shoes with a flash of shame. He shouldn’t be rude to her just because he didn’t want to be here.
“What gave it away?” he asked half jokingly.
She smiled and shrugged.
“You’re not the first,” she gave a non-answer.
Again, he didn’t have a response, so he didn’t bother trying.
Tsuda-san regarded him for another long, uncomfortable moment before she spoke.
“What do you want to get out of this?”
A bewildered “What?” fell from his mouth unbidden. They had just gone over the fact that he didn’t want to be here. What did he want to get out of this? He wanted to get out of this.
“You weren’t physically dragged here and strapped to that couch, there’s some amount of free will at play here, whether that be a secret wish to pour your heart out or simply the desire to keep your dignity intact, I’m not sure. To some degree, you are here because you want to be, so why is that?” she asked.
His initial instinct was to insist that, no, he did not want to be here; he would rather have another mall date with Shigaraki than be here, but she was right. He hadn’t really done anything to fight against this. He sent a few glares and gave a cold shoulder or two, but he never outright denied coming.
“I didn’t want to be any more difficult. I’ve caused enough problems,” he answered honestly.
“I don’t think that’s it, try again,” Tsuda-san replied without missing a beat.
He couldn’t help the expression that took over his features, it was somewhere between offense and confusion. Though, Tsuda-san only reacted to the confusion.
“You didn’t have to answer that question honestly, you didn’t have to answer it at all. You could have lied, or brushed me off, or ignored me completely, but you didn’t. So, I’ll ask again: what do you want to get out of this?”
He narrowed his eyes at her and took his time considering her aim the same way she had done to him twice already. Was therapy supposed to feel like an interrogation mixed with a game of chess? What was the answer she was looking for? And why did it feel like she was trying to trick it out of him?
“Stop worrying about my motivations, Midoriya. I want you to heal and be happy, that’s my secret, that’s what I want to get out of this. You’ve given me an honest answer already, I want you to look under that honest answer, just a little bit deeper. You don’t want to ‘cause more problems,’ sure, that’s valid, but that's a surface-level desire. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I assume you don’t want to ‘cause any more problems’ because you care about those you’re ‘causing problems’ for,” she explained kindly.
“I… Yeah, I guess,” he replied, still feeling like he was walking into a trap.
“Good, that’s good. Empathy is an honorable trait,” she replied.
He expected her to say more, but she didn’t. The room was taken over by what he assumed was supposed to be a contemplative silence, but he was too consumed by how oppressive it was to even begin contemplating anything.
“I spoke to Yamada and Aizawa, as you know, and they care about you a great deal. They want to see you heal and grow as well. Sacrificing your comfort to come here means more than you think it means; it tells me something about you, something promising. Do you know what that is?”
He tried to think about what she was saying, he turned his focus down to his lap to try and tune out the feeling of her eyes on him so that he could clear his mind enough to just think , but the longer he sat there, the more anxious he became about not having an answer. He couldn’t tell how long it had been– he’d forgotten to check the clock– but he’d been here for a little over 10 minutes by this point. How much of that had he spent staring at his lap like an idiot?
“I– n-no, I don’t,” he admitted, just to make the awful silence stop.
“That’s alright. Can I tell you what I see?” she asked without a hint of condescension.
He nodded dumbly.
“You haven’t lied to me since you got here, at least not so far as I can tell. You stepped well out of your comfort zone coming here, and you did that for them, but they’re not here now. So, I have to question who the honesty was for, if not yourself. There’s a part of you that wants to get better too, and that is incredible; indomitable hope is a hell of a foundation to build on,” she explained.
He almost laughed. Indomitable hope? He felt more like a cockroach that refused to die half the time. Indomitable hope was a much kinder way of saying the same thing, he supposed.
“So you’re here because you don’t want to trouble them, but what do you want to get out of this for yourself?” she asked again.
He knew now what she wanted him to say. She wanted him to say that he wanted to get better, but something wouldn’t let him.
“You don’t have to say it if you can’t yet, the lack of denial is enough. We’ll get there. You don’t seem like the type to give up easily, and neither am I,” she assured him.
The room once again fell into an awkward silence that he didn’t know how to fill, but thankfully, Tsuda-san didn’t leave him hanging as long as she had before.
“So, I know you’re new to this, do you have any questions for me? I’m not going to volunteer much– if any– personal information; this time is meant to be about you, not me, but do you have any questions about what to expect or what I do? Stuff like that. Of course, you can ask me whatever you’d like, but I may not answer the more personal ones,” Tsuda-san prompted him.
He was still a little stupified from the mental journey that she had just dragged him through, but he shook it off as quickly as he could.
“Can I– do you– er, um… What’s your quirk?” he asked.
What’s your quirk? She just said nothing personal, Izuku! What’s your problem? What is this, the first day of grade school?
“I don’t have one,” Tsuda-san answered calmly.
Izuku’s racing internal monologue came to a screeching halt. He could imagine that he didn’t look all that dissimilar to a gaping fish at the moment, staring at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Or, he would imagine that was what he looked like if there was anything going through his mind other than old TV static.
“Is that an issue?” she asked after a tense moment.
“No! N-no! S-sorry, I’m– I d-didn’t mean to– I shouldn’t have e-even asked, I w-wasn’t– I’m s-sorry,” he stuttered out as quickly as he could once he realized what his reaction probably felt like from her point of view.
“It’s alright, Midoriya. I told you I wouldn’t answer anything I didn’t want to. Some people have a problem with that, so I do prefer to get it out of the way if it’s ever going to come up at all.”
“No– That– Yeah, th-that makes sense… um… h-how much did they… what d-did you guys t-talk about b-before I…” he trailed off awkwardly, letting her put together the pieces of the question that he didn’t quite ask.
“They asked me about my experience and qualifications as well as what I specialize in. I think they just wanted to get a feel for me before they let you in. I get the feeling that they care about you an awful lot,” she answered.
“They didn’t t-tell you about, um… me?”
“Not much, I prefer to hear what my clients choose to tell me, and they seemed to share the sentiment,” she answered easily.
“N-not much isn’t n-nothing,” he pointed out.
Tsuda-san let out an amused puff of air from her nose.
“You’re right, not much isn’t nothing. They told me a very minimal amount of information. You’d think I’d be better with names in this profession– the scruffy-looking one’s Aizawa, right?”
He nodded and suppressed a smile. Mic didn’t even look all that scruffy straight out of bed, their hair was too silky. But Eraser? He’s not sure he’d ever seen Eraser not scruffy-looking.
“Good, my mind’s not too far gone yet. Aizawa told me that he’s a hero, he found you living on the streets a little over two months ago, and you’ve been with them since. Yamada mentioned they were worried about potential… personality shifts, but that’s it,” she elaborated.
He looked down to his feet at the latter half of that statement. They weren’t… wrong, but, God , he didn’t want to get into that.
“What prompted that question? It seemed like a non-sequitur from my point of view,” she prompted after he didn’t say anything.
“I was… I– My q-quirk came in p-pretty late,” he confessed a half truth.
A look of mournful understanding passed over her features for just a moment.
“I see, I’m sorry to hear that. That must have been difficult. May I ask how late?” she asked.
He let out a slightly hysterical laugh before he could stop himself. Difficult was a bit of an understatement. He contemplated answering her question with a lie. He still didn’t trust her with the full truth, and getting a quirk at 15 was completely unheard of, but he had the documentation to corroborate his story should he fall under question.
“A f-few m-months ago,” he admitted.
“ Oh … Wow… Well, there’s a silver lining to be had, I think you and I are going to be a good match,” she said with a sad, understanding smile.
He allowed a wobbly, uncertain smile to spread across his face as well. He felt kinship and like he was a traitor at the same time. She was part of something he never got the chance to see firsthand. What would she think of him if she knew the truth? And why did it feel like he was mourning something he had never even wanted in the first place?
“What are you thinking about?” Tsuda-san asked him, interrupting his spiral.
“You looked happy for a second, but not anymore. What happened?” she clarified when he looked blankly at her.
“I… I don’t w-wanna t-talk about th-that,” he forced out a response before that awful silence could return.
“Okay, we can talk about something else. Do you mind telling me about yourself? It doesn’t have to be your ‘tragic backstory’, you can say anything, I just want to get to know you,” she relented quickly and with no judgement.
“I… Um… I g-go to UA. I’m in the h-hero course,” he tried to say with pride, but he knew that anyone who watched the news would make the connection as to what that meant pretty quickly.
“Oh, wow! Oh… wait,” Tsuda-san came to the conclusion he figured that she would rather quickly.
He had to stifle a laugh at the series of expressions that passed over her face. They were subtle and suppressed, but he was too attuned to monitoring others to miss it completely.
“Yeah, I’m in th-that class,” he confirmed.
“Alright, noted. We can come back to that later. Aside from… that, how has UA been?”
“It’s b-been… It’s been amazing, m-more than I could have d-dreamed of,” he answered honestly again.
“That’s great, I’m so happy for you. Tell me about it,” she prompted.
She sounded so genuine, and he couldn’t find a hint that she was lying. She nodded along and listened attentively as he stuttered through telling her all the non-traumatic tidbits he could think of about his friends and his teachers. She admitted she hadn’t caught the sports festival and asked if he would mind if she went back and watched him compete. He tentatively agreed; that last match with Katsuki wasn’t something he was overly proud of, but the rest was.
She was nice and she didn’t push him to say anything more for the rest of the allotted time. They set up a time to meet again next week, and he found that he wasn’t dreading it nearly as much as he thought he would.