Days after my encounter with Gang Orca, a nurse formally announced to me that I was discharged from the hospital. The news made me happy -- I no longer wanted to stay in that white room, cooped up and left to my own means of keeping myself entertained, no matter how well-endowed and favored I was regarding my hospital treatment.

I was fortunate enough to have UA faculty come over to the hospital to deliver school work that I had missed out on in my time in the facility, so I wouldn't have to push myself to the brink of death catching up on assignments.

Though it was peculiar, how UA staff personally came to the hospital, but never visited my room. A nurse would always open the door and give me my work -- not once had I seen a familiar face come to greet me. My classmates hadn't messaged, called, or visited either.

I expected to be disappointed, or disheartened at the fact that they suddenly stopped communicating, but in a way, it relieved me. They acknowledged that I wasn't in a mindset to see them, much less than talk to them, and instead gave me time to heal, to nurture myself back into a state in which I could come face-to-face with society again and not feel uncomfortable.

Their absence provided me with the purest form of self-reflection and self-betterment.

I was appreciative of the gesture. It seemed as if they did take something away from this predicament after all.

However, I couldn't carry the thoughts for long, as in the present, it was late in the evening, and I decided to do some last-minute studying before I had to pack up and head out. To where I was going, I wasn't certain, but the nurse told me that my ride would be waiting for me in the lobby. I don't know why she phrased it this way -- vaguely and slightly nonsensical -- but I couldn't really complain.

As I was trying to reconfigure a math equation, a knock at the door interrupted my studies. I paused for a moment, setting my pen in between two pages of the textbook I was going through and looked in the direction of the sound.

"Who is it?" I called, feeling my stomach churn with a certain degree of uneasiness. The figure on the other side shifted, clearly anxious about our to-be encounter. Anybody would have guessed who it was, given their demeanor and carefulness, almost hesitancy, in approaching sensitive events such as this. Softly sighing at the thought, I got out of my chair and walked towards the door, taking a deep breath once my hand landed on the handle.

"Midoriya, I know you're out there." No sound came from outside. The silence made me furrow my eyebrows before I unlocked the door, twisting the latch in order to swing it open and reveal the identity of the not-so-mysterious figure on the other side.

I froze. My assumptions and the cool nature that came along with it melted away immediately after I set my eyes on the person standing in front of me. Goosebumps pricked my skin, spreading the sensation of tiny needles puncturing my flesh as my jaw went slack and my eyes were blown wide.

It wasn't Izuku.

It wasn't anyone that I had ever expected.

Though it was one of those that I had dreamt about.

"Mom?"

My mother's eyes were puffy, pink, like her abnormally swollen cheeks. I could tell she'd been crying -- presumably for long hours all at once. The sudden expelling of all the bodily water brought upon a drought that ravaged her health, sucking her lifeforce and bloating her skin. Regret crept up my neck in a rushing redness that constricted my airway, leaving me breathless with no other methods of revitalization.

It should've been that way, anyways.

Never once had I thought about what trauma and devastation she'd been through, or rather, what my family had been through, when they received the news that their baby had been taken away so easily. There was an element of guilt inside me, but also an unrecognized sense of knowing.

Perhaps, somewhere in the depths of my subconscious, I had come up with the notion, but had restricted it from ever coming to surface because I didn't want to torture myself with that thought.

But now, viewing the after-effects of what had happened to me, the ripple-effect of what my outburst and this catastrophe with the League had induced, I realized that it no longer mattered. I no longer cared about what I felt, what remorse I had for myself, what pity I held in regards to my own situation.

Nothing could hurt more than seeing the pain on my mother's features.

Her irises glossed over when she set her sights on me, accompanied by a pair of trembling lips that seemed to speak a thousand words in a small breath that passed through them in an attempt to control herself.

I couldn't move as my limbs gave away and my lungs gave out.

My heart started to swell as my knees buckled, causing me to collapse in a whirlwind of fervent emotion. Hot, unrelenting tears started to stream down my cheeks, falling to the floor the moment they touched my chin, pushed by the force of oncoming, physical waves of sorrow.

They caught on my eyelashes as I blinked, sending droplets of salted water to wet the tops of my eyelids, then trickled down the half-sphere shape of my eyes to rest in the creases of my smile lines.

I felt a new presence enter the space as my mother knelt down to embrace me.

"Hey kiddo." Gasping as I recognized the voice, I stuck my arm out and wildly reached around the air in order to grab a hold of my father. Once my fingers had touched the fabric of the shirt he was wearing, my nerves calmed as my fist clenched around a small section of the cloth, tightly grabbing onto it and bringing it closer to me.

As his arms wrapped around my mother and me, I sobbed a little harder at the spontaneous recognition that I couldn't even bear to open my eyes and see what he looked like. It was too much, too painful. I only could imagine his tired eyes, unshaven beard, messied hair and grim expression he wore -- this served as fuel for the continuing of my episode.

But in this time of desperation, of helplessness and hopelessness, there seemed to be a light.

Through the limited olfactory ability that I had, I felt my senses being overcome by a familiar scent. It wasn't cologne, nor perfume, nor any synthetic fragrance. It smelled of fresh apples, soft linen and gentle kisses, cedar wood and all the warmness it would bring during cold winters, open fields spread out infinitely across golden skyline, of the vase of baby's breath that would always sit at our windowsill, soaking up the Sun -- the smell that I found myself comforted by. It meant safety, it meant belonging.

It smelled like home.

And the moment my head hit my mother's chest as my back felt the love of my father's touch, my taught muscles relaxed, my breathing pattern became more regular, and the storm brewing within the small chamber in my chest dispersed. I felt my dad's hand start to pat my back, almost rhythmically, drawing me into a state of drowsiness.

And everything was quiet again.

"Let's go home," my dad whispered, "Let's go home."

__

After I had eaten a nice, home cooked meal, cried about it for a little while, and finished, I headed upstairs to my room to take a nice, long shower to ease my tired joints and relieve some of the tension in my limbs.

A wave of happiness rushed through me as I saw that the interior of my room hadn't changed one bit since the day that I left. Everything was where it originally belonged -- the posters and decor were kept dust-free and still hanging on the walls and various miscellaneous items were scattered across my nightstand. I smiled gleefully. The space was still, undeniably, the old room that I grew up with.

Sinking into an old leather-bound office chair, I closed my eyes in content, resting there for a few seconds. The humming of the air conditioner sounded throughout the room as the muffled clangs of pots and pans sounded downstairs as my parents cleaned the dishes together.

It was all going so well, but suddenly, an unwelcome disruption interrupted the brief period of peace. I felt the buzzing of my phone in my pocket. I groaned at the pest of a call and annoyedly picked it up, hoping that it would be brief. At the moment, I didn't care to see who was ringing me up, just that they would hurry and state their business so I could get back to relaxing.

"Hello?"

"Hey (Y/N)."

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach, the hole in my chest now filled with dread.

I immediately grew silent upon recognizing the voice. The person on the other side of the line hummed in curiosity, repeating themselves for good measure.

"(Y/N)? Are you there?" I swallowed, trying not to throw up the food that I'd just eaten for dinner. Forcing myself to keep down the unusually thick bile that started to rise in my throat, I garbled out a response to have the other caller stop talking.

"Hi Midoriya."

"Hey (Y/N)!" His tone was unusually cheery, so much so that it sounded as if he were trying to convince himself that either party in this conversation should feel something even remotely close to happiness. I scoffed to myself at the thought.

"Why are you calling me? Aren't you busy or something?" Deku laughed awkwardly on the other side of the line, his pitch growing unnaturally high.

"No, no! Well yes, I mean I am busy- But not busy enough to not check up on you! I mean, I just- I just made time to call you today. Yeah, I'm just calling to check up on you. I hope you're doing well!" I hummed, trying to ease into this "surprise call" as best as I could.

"Yeah, I'm just... back at my home." Midoriya laughed again.

"That's good! Yeah, that's good. I uh... I hope you're having a good time! With your parents!" I pressed my lips together in a thin line.

"Yeah. Better than ever," I said with a fake laugh, "Better than ever." The line grew silent for a while, but I waited for Izuku to say something. His side was eerily quiet for this time, so I suspected he must've muted himself. That meant that other people were probably with him. It at least meant that others cared enough to stick around.

After a minute passed, Deku started to talk again.

"I don't want to rush you, I really don't mean to, but do you know when you'll be coming back to UA?"

"Whenever I'm ready to, I guess. Principal Nezu sent my parents an email pardoning my absence. He also made sure to secure the area around my neighborhood in the case of another League attack. So I'm safe. It all just comes down to how mentally prepared I am to go into school again."

"Oh, I see," Midoriya spoke, "Um... is there anything bothering you at the moment?"

"Odds and ends -- just some complications. I'm slowly trying to come to terms with everything."

His line went quiet again. I groaned, bothered by the complicated mess that this phone call was and decided to just try and end it right then and there so I could at least get enough closure to be able to sleep at night.

"Look, if you're talking to other people about who's to blame and how you can all collectively approach that topic, let me just give you the answer up front: it's not your guys' faults, okay?" I sighed, running my fingers through my hair, "I'm not blaming you for all of this. You don't need to fix anything with me. I just needed some time alone, away from the people who are at fault. I appreciate you taking the time to call me and trying to find a way to communicate to me without touching anything sensitive, but this isn't really working. I promise we can all hash it out once I come back."

Immediately after I finished the tangent, a bunch of voices immediately started to sound from the other side of the line.

"The road to recovery is long, but it's worth it!"

"Things will get better soon, (Y/N)! Don't worry!"

"You have us to confide in!"

"Bakugo's not here but he said he hopes you'll be ok! Something along those lines! I think!"

"My line is always free! Give me a call when you're in the mood!"

"Darkness will not always prevail! The light that is brought by perseverance will shine brightly after the shadows depart." Izuku's voice came in last, louder and more prominent than all the others.

"We care about you, (Y/N). Please don't hesitate to contact us." I paused, wanting to say something more, but couldn't argue against the underlying tones of kindness and genuine care, and against my better judgement.

"Alright, thanks Midoriya," I instead responded with a small, forced smile, "I'll keep that in mind."

He seemed happy enough as he said his goodbyes and as I hung up the phone. Clenching the device in my hand, I stared at it for a few moments before tossing it onto my bed and tilting my head up to the ceiling.

I covered my face with both hands, leaning back into my chair and heaving a long sigh, at war with myself on how I should feel about this.

God.