(no subject)

[idraax]

There is a bowl of katsudon on the grave. Something twists inside of him at that.

Too young

“Mom must have been here,” Midoriya says. “Katsudon was my favorite.”

Blood on the ground. A cracked skull. A child’s body spread out on concrete with all its limbs twisted and broken. The glow of the streetlamp across pale skin.

This was his fault. He had been too late.

He placed the flowers in front of the grave.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Next to him, Midoriya is silent.

The brush of cloth against his fingers. The crunch of a body hitting the ground. They stayed with him, were engraved into his nightmares.

“I failed.”

There is a cold spot on his right shoulder. Midoriya’s hand hovers above it. His eyes ache. He has forgotten his eye drops at home.

Midoriya gives him a sad smile and it is wrong, everything about this is wrong.

“None of this was your fault, Aizawa-san. You were the only one who even tried to help.”

He turns back to the grave, to the name on the stone. There had been nothing he could do for the others, but this failure was right next to him. A constant reminder in his life.

Eventually, he turns away and leaves. The ghost next to him follows.

He may not have been able to save Midoriya Izuku, but he could help him move on. That was the least he could do.