With my hands anxiously pulling at my bed covers, I couldn't stop sweating, or gagging. I felt like everything had left me in that moment, what little life I had, the sanity that clung onto me like the last leaf in a barren tree, just before the crack of winter. I gripped the sides of my head and shook my head, trying to rid my memory of the nightmare that had just haunted me. The back of my throat burned from the bile that was rising in it as my insides were attempting to jump out and lay themselves on my room's floor. 

Rushing to the washroom, I hastily opened the toilet seat and gave a large, dry retch. Coughing, another grotesque noise sounded out, echoing in the small lavatory. My body trembled with every heave, not reacting naturally to the amount of energy I was exerting so quickly. Sobs that had buried themselves deep within my voice box were set free as hellish cries mixed with the gut-wrenching sound of vomiting. 

Suddenly, I heard a knock on my door. A frantic one. One that went as quick as mice's feet on a hardwood floor. It seemed urgent. Maybe someone had heard. I took deep breaths and tried to calm down, using a fresh towel to clean off the sweat and saliva doused all over my face. Quickly rinsing my mouth and giving a smile to myself in the mirror, I went to open the door. 

"Oh, Aizawa-sensei?" Though his posture didn't indicate anything, for a split second I could have sworn his eyes flashed with danger. But that was gone that moment we made eye contact. He blinked at me, eyes glancing at my stature. Shriveled, pruned hands from wiping away tears, a bent back, and red, obviously puffy eyes from crying. He grunted and murmured if anything was wrong. Taken aback, my eyes started to water before I shook my head, heart heavy.

"I wouldn't want you to miss out on any sleep, sensei! It's really no problem, just allergies and such, the stupid weather's gotten-"

"I'm not an idiot, (L/N)," he interrupted, eyes bearing daggers, sticking into my skull. "I can tell you're distressed." I actually managed to laugh it off, sheepishly smiling.

"I told you, it's nothing, I'm really... fine." The small, sad chuckle that came at the end was enough to tip him off. Immediately, he set a hand on my shoulder. It came gently, like a gesture of grace, but planted firmly down. My smile trembled as tears broke loose, streaming down my newly dry cheeks like overflowing rain. Small hiccups of breath intertwined with quiet squeaking as I brought both of my hands up to my face to hide my expression.

It was embarrassing. 

"I'm fine, what did I tell you?" I sobbed, completely breaking down. "I'm okay, you don't have to worry." Crying into my hands, palms cupping my eyes so they caught every droplet of water that came out of pure misery. Aizawa grew hesitant, but finally, I felt a warm body and arms supporting me. Though it wasn't tight, this was the caring that I longed for. Bawling into his shoulder, I was an absolute wreck of emotions. My fingers clawed at my face, muffling the sound of my desperation for help. 

"You're not fine, (L/N). Even an old man like me can see it." I wanted to laugh, I really did. But my lips couldn't part to even let the slightest giggle out. He must have felt it, too. We stayed for a few more minutes, with my hyperventilating coming to a stop, only the occasional sniffle slipping out.

"Kid," he began, quietly comforting me, "it's okay to just cry sometimes. Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" I thought for a moment, my eyes downcast as the shadows that my curtains made spread across the room. Sighing, I wiped my eyes again and rested my hands in my lap, both of us sitting by now, separated.

"I had a nightmare," I murmured, cringing at how childish it sounded. "It was so surreal, I felt like I was in it, like I was living it. After... considering things a bit, I don't know whether it's reality or not. Maybe part of my future." 

"If explaining is too much for you, it's alright."

"No." I shook my head and furrowed my eyebrows. "It's okay." Taking in a big breath, I shuddered, preparing myself for the harder task ahead.

"I dreamed that I was a professional pro hero. Loved by all, made one by myself. Reporters, flocks of people were gathered to see me, and only me. It felt... great. I didn't know what was going on, but I just thought that my hard work was recognized. 

"Then the scene changed. I was at an apartment. It was quiet, barren, with no other people. It wasn't really what a pro hero would live in, right? So I found these... rooms. They were sad, with scattered household items, objects that belonged to someone. They seemed familiar, somehow. Near the end, there was this closed door, and..." My throat had gone dry. I was parched. Managing a little rasp, though, I tried to tell more.

"...and inside, every wall, even the ceiling was covered with papers, news articles. One was about me, and one was about everyone else. We'd all become heroes, saving the day, and I should've been so happy. On a post-it, there was a message: 'What is the difference?' I-I don't know, I didn't know what it was. I stared agonizingly at the pictures, but I didn't find a difference.

"Then there was this note. Two, actually. One was a letter to me from my parents. They..." I bit back a tear, holding it in as best as I could.

"They left. Or I made them leave," I whispered, balling my hands up into fists. "I made them leave. Two people so important to me, and I made them leave. Initially, I didn't pay attention to it much, but now..." A breath of air released all at once, the precipitation fogging up the clear air, then disappearing once more.

"Now I'm afraid that'll happen. And I don't want to lose them, too, Aizawa-sensei. I miss them so much. I didn't realize it, but I miss them so much." At that moment, nostalgia hit me like a tidal wave. I finally admitted it. My senses were on fire. I could hear the distinct laughter of my father, the glorious chuckles he omitted when his favorite baseball team won nationals. I could smell the bubbling pots of soup coming from the kitchen as my mother happily served us a hot meal, out of her own love for us.

My hands longed for the familiar grip of my family's arms, how I could hold on without ever letting go, and they would do the same back. I wanted safety, warmth, the feeling of not being alone. I so desperately needed something to latch onto, something that I could trust, that could suspend me without ever letting me fall.

"I understand. It must feel bad. I'm personally not one for too many words, but I get where you're coming from. And I could already guess you'd be feeling this way." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, dozily staring at the ground. "It's hard being quirkless in a hero society, and it often gets you singled out. It was a guess, since I've personally never known any hero who didn't have a power.

"When you first came into my class, I was thinking of immediately dropping you. I didn't want you to have to suffer because of something you didn't know how to overcome, regardless of how you got here. But then I saw your eyes -- burning with passion and the desire to become a grand hero. So I let you stay. It struck a nerve.

"So for the next upcoming months, you improved, drastically so. The amount of effort you put into this does signify that you want it. But like any person, even heroes, they burn out. Something overtakes them, and that something is a topic I'm very familiar with, that I've gone through many times. But I've overcome it." He stood up, his yellow sleeping bag tucked under his arm, and reached his hand out to me to help me stand up.

"That topic is something I can't teach you. So you have to learn. It's not so easily applicable when said in words, but when you experience it, it's a rush that you will never feel anywhere else."

He then left, the quiet footsteps padding along as my door finally shut.

Now I was left in darkness.