Izuku easily found himself entering an easygoing pattern of school. He loved the blocked classes and intense study periods. 

But more importantly he loved the random, insanely large antique store that was less than a mile from campus. After school, he easily found himself wandering the grounds and listening to the internal directions of Six. 

There were eight of them, he learned. Eight people were stuck in his head. 

The mere thought made him feel sick to his stomach. So much so that some days he found himself skipping dinner in fear it wouldn't settle well. 

Some nights he could feel his mother's soft gaze looking at him with a concerned expression, and then he would find himself taking pity on her and swallow a few bites. He quickly became able to move his food around his plate in a fashion that seemed as if he had eaten a decent chunk. He was growing quite skilled. But no matter how much he tried to eat normally, his stomach couldn't seem to handle the stress. 

Bile often coated his stomach so thickly, angering it and forcing most foods to come straight back up. 

And no amount of tapping was helping. 

They've already poisoned the whole kitchen. Number Two said one day as Izuku was laying flat on his bed. 

He found himself thinking over the events of previous attempted dinners. How am I the only one sick? How is mom not getting sick? He countered. 

She's hiding it. Spoke the slimey voice of Number Seven. Just like you are. 

She doesn't want you to worry. Whispered Three. 

But of course you failed at not letting her worry over you too. 

Izuku felt his face scrunch up in a wince. The pang of guilt wracked his soul as he thought of all the concerned and comforting gestures his mother had sent him recently. He didn't want to hurt her. 

He never wanted to hurt her. 

But you did. 

Izuku felt a tear drip out of the corner of his eye and down his cheek. But I did.