The worst thing for Izuku is knowing that he will always be in danger when he comes home. It's unfair, really unfair, but on the other hand he's not sure he can imagine things differently. It is what it is: the sky is blue, one plus one are two and Izuku is not safe in his house. He's almost used to it and doesn't really question it anymore.

It's hard to imagine that he's supposed to feel an inner peace when he feels his heart buzzing and hitting his ribs as if to try to get out of it at the slightest mistake. His heart always beats faster than others' so the anxiety that perfumes his veins and the state of alert in which he constantly is immersed and which makes him jump at the smallest sound, it is a little like relaxation to him, his basic state.

And then sometimes he's stupid, as when his feet squeak the floor when he knows that the third step of the attic is noisy and it forces him to remember that he does not have the luxury of being able to forget things like that and that he is nothing but a perfect fool to abuse a little more his heart that deserves a break.

Sometimes he falls under the illusion that his house is a home, that he can let his guard down because Mom asks him how he is, if it went well in class and in those moments he almost does not have to force himself to smile because they are alone at home.

Most times this is not the case, to his greatest regret. Sometimes he doesn't even have time to set foot in the garden driveway and he already knows it's not a good night to go home. Because he has this way of parking his car that makes him tighten his grip on the straps of his school bag. He's not even sure how he determines that it's not a good day, but he's never wrong. Izuku is almost certain that he smells it in the air, that his annoyance floats above them and flees from the house through the chimney in those stormy days.

He also wonders if his mother realizes it or if she has become so accustomed to the tension that reigns between their walls that it never leaves her, like a perfume or humidity in a bathroom. He can smell it. He even sees it, this rage, this urge that oozes from the walls, reminding his presence even when he is not there; that he exists in the domestic silences and that his eyes are everywhere and especially where he cannot see him coming.

Only the sound of the knife welcomes him when he enters the house with a small rhythm that tells him that Mom is in the kitchen. He knows that it is a day like this because he squeezed his bag against him before pushing the door and that the car is parked in this way that he cannot explain but which makes the hair on his arms raise.

"I am home." He speaks to an empty hallway, loud enough to make himself heard but not enough to monopolize attention, and he does not wait for an answer to remove his shoes and join his mother in the kitchen, hoping to find her alone to delay a little more the inevitable.

His mother smiles when she sees him and he returns it while settling near the freezer to observe her without disturbing her. He won't help her because that would mean dinning earlier.

"How was middle school today?" asks Inko while continuing to cut her carrots.

He could almost believe that they are alone, having a good time but the kitchen is silent and it reminds him that if the man was not there, the radio would be filling their silence. The house is always so quiet when he is there.

"Very well," lies Izuku remembering the nasty look of his Spanish teacher when he took out his notebook or the cafeteria where small balls of bread were thrown in his direction.

He unconsciously puts a hand in his hair and smiles at his mom while asking the same question.

He listens to her talk about her day without losing his smile, just happy to be able to listen to her voice and only interrupting her to say that he has muscles soreness to find a reason to massage his numb back.

He can always almost forget him, almost live. And then a breath behind him is heard and his muscles paralyze and he remembers that he has eyes everywhere, that the walls are soaked in it -like a perfume, like a bathroom -, that the third step of the attic squeaks and that the car is parked -like this, not like that.

"Is this any time for you to get home?"

He doesn't want to turn to face his stepfather, but he has to.