When the sound of his alarm clock makes itself known, Izuku is ready to jump on it to turn it off since a good ten minutes at least. It is as if his body, even unconsciously, had understood that he was not alone in his bed that night and that he needed to be on his guard, which would explain why he spent the night opening his eyes at each rustle of his pyjamas against that of the other boy and waking up at each of his too-strong breaths.

Again, Izuku feels the sleeping boy's warm breath in waves on his neck and rather than lying down shivering with discomfort, he decides to be brave and sneaks discreetly to the bathroom, forcing himself to be even more careful than usual while walking on the squeaky floor when he nearly bumps into the door frame with his face because of the fatigue that is like a leaden weight on his shoulders.

It doesn't take him very long to shower or to prepare their meals for lunch so he quickly finds himself looking at the sea from his favourite observation point, having enough confidence in his childhood friend's abilities to find the way to the front door or to the bus stop without getting lost.

In front of him, the sea is gray, stormy and the icy wind hits his face like a salty slap.

Lost there on his end of the cliff, Izuku dreams of a future or another world where the boy he so easily called Kacchan before he told him off for it with a hateful grimace is kind, likes him and spends his break time with him. He can't imagine better, he can't bring himself to it and just imagining the blonde smiling at him or calling him his friend... he can't do it and the feeling of his heart trying to retract on itself when he tries convinces him to stop just as quickly as he started.

Anyway, Izuku would prefer his hope to die once and for all, at least to keep consistency with the chills of fear and the erratic beats that his heart hammered in his chest last night when Kacchan accidentally put -brushed past- his hand on his arm during his sleep, pulling him from Morpheus' embrace for long minutes until the mush that is his brain understood that, no, he was not going to initiate anything with him or explode one of his limbs.

Katsuki wakes up soon after his classmate, when the second alarm of the morning clock rings and his heart nearly peels off from his chest. The blonde wakes up with a sudden gesture, his arm going in the direction of the object to give it a blow that he aborts at the last moment when he realises that he is not in his room and that the sheets smell like the other boy.

No more delighted than the day before about his stays with the Midoriya, he prepares himself for school by grumbling half-heartedly, quickly greeting his former friend's mother when he meets her in the kitchen and she hands him what he thinks is his lunch. If the yellow colour and smell is anything to go by, it's curry.

Deku's mother takes back what must be her seat at the living room table, putting her hands on her bowl of hot chocolate, a still-asleep look on her face.

"So Katsuki, did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," he said, also buttering some toast and grabbing a banana, barely sitting at the table.

He thinks without saying it about his night which was not the most relaxing, the other constantly tossing and turning in the sheets and himself who held back so as not to hit him with a blow that would have finally stunned him.

"Did you take your sports bag?" Asks the mother.

"Yes," said the blonde, pointing to the bag at his feet before getting up quickly, already exhausted from having to talk to her so early. "I have to go. See you tonight."

"Goodbye!" Answers the woman with her usual jovial air.

It's at the bus stop that the two teenagers finally meet and Katsuki does not need more than a few seconds to notice that the other has forgotten something.

"Well, nerd? Did you forget your bag?" He asks, hoping that he will have to run to his house to take it. Given the time, there is a small chance for the bus to leave when he would come back, out of breath.

But the other does not answer him what he wants, just a flat "no", as if once again, Katsuki did not deserve more explanation.

And it annoys him. This nonchalance, his deliberate ignorance...

"You think that you can look down on me because I have to live with you for a week?
Calm the fuck down, Deku! Don't play smart with me!"

His threat is still effective if the surprised expression on the other's face is any indicator.

"Yeah! No, but you're really feeling yourself a little too much lately!" Says a girl in their class - Julie or Julia - who apparently listened to their exchange and who is a little too eager to smile at him according to him.

Katsuki glances at the boy who bites his lower lip with a somewhat guilty look. The message seems to hit home.

For his part, Izuku can't help but wonder if it's true, if the boy in front of him is right, if he really has the intentions he attributes him and if he is so used to lying to everyone that he ended up lying to himself too.

Seeing as his hands tremble in spite of himself, he can't really scratch the hypothesis with certainty.

He gets on the bus but does not go very far before a foot trips him and sends him to the ground, his injured flank making brutal contact with the floor of the moving bus. Pitt's acerbic laughter is enough for him to know that he is the owner of the foot in question.

He lets out a somewhat pathetic moan that he holds back as best he can without severing his lip with his teeth and once he is up and sat down, it is his tears that he holds back as best he can, trying to block out the laughter of his classmates without putting his hands on his ears so as not to show them how much it hurts him.

It's in those kind of moments that he regrets more than ever not having a quirk. He could leave his shame behind, be stronger... He knows that he must redouble his efforts in his training, do his best to its fullest to finally receive the alter of All Might.

He should also begin to learn to hold back his tears, he reprimands himself inwardly. How could he face real villains if he crumbles down at the slightest remark from his classmates.

He absentmindedly massages his flank. All this is still his fault.

When he arrives at the middle school , his teacher only takes a few seconds to read his pink slip before sighing and sending him in the study room, mumbling at him to work on his math lessons. Izuku can see that he does not like to see him miss the swimming class, that he has never seen him there and that he always hopes for a change because he is one of the only ones who does not cause him problems.

" Yes, Sir..." he says simply, placing his bag on his numb back.

"I'll ask Katsuki to help you... You live together this week, don't you?"

Sometimes, he regrets that the adult wants to see him succeed.

He just nods and watches the man join his classmates on the bus. Once in the study room, he does not wait long before starting to work and even if he gives it his all, there is nothing to do and the problems do not seem to want to be solved.

He has the sudden regret of not being able to be in the water with his classmates. Oh, of course he knows that it would probably go very badly, that they would probably try to put his head under water or humiliate him in one way or another, but it still stings his heart to think about his teacher's expression when he handed him the piece of paper. Of the lack of surprise on his face, the weariness that did not even allow him to justify himself.

He can't even tell him that he would like to go or that he can't swim. He just has to endure his disappointment in silence, knowing that the adult thinks he could do better while pinching his lips between them so as not to let out the slightest sound.

After an hour of pure struggle , he dares to take the little notebook hidden in his bag to write a few lines but again, the distraction is meagre and he ends up raising his hand and catching the supervisor's attention.

She gives him access to the music room in the blink of an eye and he picks up his belongings.

He spends a good time there, an hour, maybe more using the poorly tuned violin of the middle school and studying one of the sheet music he copied on his notebook.

He thinks of his father who had made him take solfege lessons, his fingers shake and he cries a little. He plays with the notes, letting the melodies come as they want...

He ends up putting down the instrument and looking at his lesson. He still doesn't understand it.

When Katsuki learns that he has to give support classes to Deku, he fulminates. As if it were not enough for the swimming class to be unbearably long and boring, he must spend the way back to the school ruminating his anger.

He did not choose to be abandoned at this dumbass' house and going by his teacher's tone, he also doesn't have a say on this decision and it makes him want to explode the window of the bus he sees from the corner of his eye.

He sighs when he meets the eyes of a group of girls in his class. That didn't help his good mood either. If they were content being nasty by themselves it would be one thing, but to also have to endure their prying laughter and knowing that each and every of his movements are observed, that's above what he can stand and it makes him want to shout at them.

He also feels like that it has worsened this week. He does not know exactly what it is and where it comes from but he suspects that the arrival of the new student is no stranger to it. He may be imagining things but it would surprise him and he has the impression that he pushes them to bring out the worst in themselves. If talking with Deku were in his habits, he would quickly have had a real answer.

In fact, he can see him in their classroom through the window, certainly leaning over one of his notebooks while the bus is parking in front of the school. When he looks away, he realises that he is not the only one to have seen him. It's as if his whole class suddenly had the devouring desire to punch him in the face and Katsuki is having a hard time holding back the shiver that passes through his body.

Something in the air has changed and he doesn't like it at all.

When the students return to class, it doesn't take more than a few seconds for problems to fall on Izuku like a pile of bricks.

Max drops his pencil case on the floor, which he could have taken as an accident until he bent down and Julie kicked it to move it away.

He hears some giggles but ignores them to get on all fours, sighing and starts to pick up his pens.

"Well Izuku, what kind of position is this?" Says Julie, stretching the syllables of his first name. "Do you want to have some that bad?"

Mona puts herself at his level and if he first thinks that she's gonna help him, he quickly loses hope when she just leans towards him and says, "You look like a slut".

All the students still laugh while sitting at their tables to look down at him and the boy try to just keep his head down, putting down his pencil case on the table in a swift motion, his fists clenched so tight his fingers are white.

Classes are also not easy when they resume, the teenager still lost and confused and, already over this day, he decides to take his recess break on the roof so as not to have to face the students in his class.

If Katsuki has to find something positive out of his stay with the Midoriya, it is that at least he can train without being interrupted. It must be five p.m. when he finishes his homework and since Deku has still not returned home and has the right to go out, he just warns his mother and does the same.

He goes to the beach without waiting, starting to run to warm up when he unintentionally intercepts the discussion of two of his neighbours who are commering in front of a garden.

He doesn't have all the context or desire to have it but he can't help but listen.

"Have you seen him too?" Says one.

"Oh yes! I must have seen him fifteen times in front of my house since noon... A kid of this age..." answers the older one.

"He is determined! It changes from the one I have at home!"

Katsuki can only roll his eyes and speed up his run to get away from these two women before they approach him.

When he arrives at the beach, he is greeted by a bad surprise that presents itself in the form of his childhood friend who... does parkour.

There is no other way to describe the teenager soaked in sweat even if he would like to be able to demean him in his mind. Katsuki can only accept it while brooding : the other run everywhere and jump over the structures that surround him, he is comfortable, agile and fuck if this view does not make him want to modify his dentition.

He realises that it was probably him that the neighbours were talking about and that enrages him even more. He doesn't understand why he puts so much energy into this so stupidly when he doesn't even have a quirk. That's just about it, he's stupid. An idiot who will eventually hurt himself and who will not go any further in life. That'll teach him.

At least that's what he says to himself the next hour to stay focussed on his training and not be distracted by the other who keeps moving everywhere. If he wanted to, he is sure he could do the same thing.

It's only when it is too dark to be able to continue that the blonde finally stops, grabbing his water bottle to drink large sips of water and allowing himself to let his gaze deflect towards the other boy.

Deku doesn't seem to be receiving the information that it's almost nighttime and even if he knows that it would surely make him laugh, the idea that he could hurt himself makes him want to shout his name to stop him, which he decides to do when he misses one of his movements, slips and barely catches himself on the low wall.

"DEKU!" The teenager turns around, surprised, and Katsuki feels his teeth grinding between them because it means that he had not even noticed his presence until then. "We're going home! You're not even capable to understand a simple math class so I have to play the teacher! Move!"

"Sorry Kacchan, I didn't see the time go by," the boy apologises when he reaches his level, still out of breath and a few drops of sweat running down his neck.

"Shut your trap. And go shower when you're home, you stink."

Once at home, he does exactly that without protesting while the blonde goes to his desk and prepares exercises for him.

"Do this while I shower," finally says the blonde when the other comes back in the small room. "You're not allowed to help yourself with something, understood?"

Katsuki can't help smiling when the other obeys him without flinching but his joy is only short-lived when, after his own shower, he returns to find that the other does not have a single good answer.

"Damn it, you can't be that lazy! I swear that if you're making mistakes on purpose-"but he is interrupted by the boy who seems to refrain from pulling his hair out.

"It's the only thing I do, efforts but I don't understand anything about this!"

He looks on the verge of a nervous breakdown and Katsuki forces himself to take a deep breath.
He closes his mouth for about ten seconds before bringing a chair closer, standing next to the teenager and opening his own notebook that has the advantage of being in a single piece.

"First of all, you don't know how to read a graph..." he starts more calmly because he doesn't plan to spend the evening on this. "Look."

Izuku has so much trouble believing that his classmate is explaining the lesson to him calmly that he nearly miss it at all and forces himself to get out of his initial shock when he realises it so as not to tarnish the blonde's complacent mood.

Kacchan makes him retake the exercise and he even manages to hear him grin when he hands him his notebook so that he can check his answers and he finds nothing to complain about.

"Thank you Kacchan," he says without being able to refrain from smiling when he says he knew he could do it. He doesn't know if it is a misinterpretation on his part but he almost has the impression that his own remark destabilises him.

"Yeah, well, enough! You're not going to cry about it!"

Izuku barely repress his laughter and likes to think that he did not imagine the embarrassed red on the boy's cheeks.

During the meal, the relaxed atmosphere of homework time seems so far away when this one is surprisingly even heavier than the day before.

Izuku pretends not to meet the eyes of his stepfather while he forces himself to chew his vegetables. He has seen this expression enough times on his face to know without the shadow of a doubt what awaits him later in the evening and his green beans become difficult to swallow in anticipation.

Please, he thinks before trying to convey to him this same feeling with a look. I don't want to, not tonight.

He can't do much when he ignores him in return and telling him out loud is not an option so when his mother interrupts their silent exchange, he listens to her.

"So boys, how was your day?"

He looks at the blonde who frowns as his only answer, making him understand that it is up to him to answer.

"Uh...good." He doesn't really know what to say and puts down his fork while swallowing his bite which is nothing more than mush with how long he chewed it but he forces himself to find something positive for her. "I... I finally understood the exercises we do in mathematics and I played a little bit of violin in the music room."

"You see what it looks like when you bother to make an effort. I no longer want to hear these excuses that you constantly give yourself. I won't accept a slaker under our roof."

"Did you work on your music theory?" Asks his mother in a soft voice giving him a smile, surely to dispel what she believes to be just a subject of tension between them.

"Yes, mom."

Fortunately, his eyes drift towards the blonde because he just has time to stop him with a glance when he understands that he's about to answer something to his stepfather.

First he looks confused, then annoyed before simply looking down on his plate again. Izuku will not dare to thank him later or mention that he is flattered by his reaction because he really hopes that it will not happen again. He doesn't need him to act like a hero here. Neither now nor ever and the idea of him doing it again just makes him nauseous.

"And you, Katsuki?" She turns to him with the same sweet smile and Izuku feels bad for being hurt because this smile is not reserved for him.

"Good too. The teacher gave us back our Spanish homework and I had full marks."

Izuku doesn't need more for his body to tense up instantly.

"You can be proud of yourself, it's a good job. And you, Izuku?"

His throat is so dry that swallowing is not enough and it is only after wiping his clammy hands on his thighs and gulping down a large glass of water that he can finally speak.

"I got a D- but I had trouble with the conjugations..."

Even if Katsuki's goal was for the other to say his grade when talking about their exam, he can't understand why Deku doesn't say that Max tore up his notebook.

He who expected a tirade on the behaviour of his classmates or excuses, he is rather disappointed and can't understand why he doesn't say more. He has a hard time recognising it but it's true that this time, it's not totally his fault.

"IZUKU!" Exclaims the man, placing his glass a little too firmly on the table, making his stepson startle. "None of that with me, if I were to believe you, you would have trouble in all subjects! Get it together!"

"Darling..." tries to interrupt Inko who is also cut by the man.

"No, I can't stand this anymore. I don't want to hear about it anymore," he tells Deku who closes his mouth that he had just opened. "We'll spend the evening on it if necessary, but after eating, you are going straight to the attic."

Katsuki does not know if he is happy with himself or not when he hears his former friend agreeing to his request in a trembling voice.

He finishes his plate with his eyes glued to the dish, unable to understand why the situation makes him so uncomfortable even though he is used to seeing his parents arguing at mealtimes.

He does not know if it is the remains of his sickness that put him in this state or if there is something strange in the air but no matter how many times he tries to regulate his breathing, his hands remain of an unusual moistness.

Later when he is in the green-haired boy's room, a book in his hands while waiting for bedtime and he hears what resembles muffled screams from the attic, he simply doubles his efforts to focus on the text in front of his eyes without understanding why his throat tightens or where the feeling of shame that pours into his belly comes from.

Naked and sat on the bed in the attic, Izuku watches his stepfather approach him with a fearful eye. The man wears the same threatening smile that he always has on his face as soon as they pass through this door and in his hands, Izuku can see the harmless metal ball turn into a long and heavy cylinder that he lets rest almost tenderly in his palm.

He can never really look at him when he does this, when he caresses the object like his little pet and when he closes his eyes to let his obstructive tears drop out of his sight, he feels his weight sink on the bed.

The boy knows that if he opens his eyes now, he will face his sadistic expression and his anticipation of being able to hurt him, finally.

He trembles with cold and something else on the sheets in this too silent room, when a heavy hand lands on one of his legs slightly raised and he becomes aware of all the tension that inhabits him because no matter how much the adult massages it with his rough fingers, his body still does not become more malleable.

And Izuku may breathe, tell himself again and again that he is used to it and know that he should really try to relax, nothing does and he remains petrified by fear.

It's when he puts a hand on his knee that Izuku realises that he had stopped breathing because the inspiration of cold air passing through his body gives him the same effect as an electric shock and plunges him back into the situation in spite of himself.

He suspects, in a corner of his mind, that this is one of those things that Marcus has rooted in his reflexes. That his body knows - sometimes even before him - what gestures announce that he will start and become more violent. And as if this hand were a switch, Izuku feels himself sweating under its weight that tells him "Enough playing. It was fun for a moment and I let you panic but I'm done now."

He almost wants to scratch his eardrums because he hears his voice too clearly in his head.

As he expected, it only takes one or two seconds before he opens up his thighs by giving a slightly loud slap on the too tender flesh from the inside of his leg, ignoring both his hiss of pain and the semblance of resistance he was opposing to him.

Anyway, Marcus knows that he is too afraid of being caught today so when he pushes him on his back and makes him understand that he must hold his legs in his arms, he says nothing and just executes himself, exhibiting his white child's buttocks.

Izuku does not take long to stifle his cries of pain by biting his knees when he violently pushes the object into him, which he only lubricated with the little saliva he spat on his cheeks. He is too used to doing this to him not to know that the blood will come to help penetration and Izuku could almost beg his body to tear itself up faster if he did not feel like he had an anvil on his chest.

The burn is almost unbearable and he wants to scream but he can't, both for fear of reprisals and because his throat jolts in his sobs and it contracts too much to let out a real noise.

He forces his legs against his face and lets himself sink into the mattress, knees against his eyes to hide his tears and stifle his crying and trying to comfort himself as he can by focussing on his legs that want to escape his grip and fight back rather than on the dry come and go between his thighs that does not improve so much.

A guttural sound still escapes him and he doubles his efforts on the grip of his fingers so as not to give in to his vocal cords and continue to ignore the litany of "It hurts" that his brain strives to send him as if he could do something to stop it.

He hears the sneer that escapes the other even as he keeps holding him on the bed, one hand pressing his bloody buttock while the other pistons in his innards with the object of his nightmares and Izuku does his best to ignore him too without being able to plug his ears. He with his macabre laughter, his cruel erections, his deep and wet breathing on his body.

He feels a mixture of tears and snot flowing down his face and he clings desperately to this flow of liquid that he feels making its way down his neck rather than the one that is much warmer and that flows from his anus and -he has no doubt about it- which must be of a bright red.

The spasms that shake his body are hot, almost as boiling as the iron cylinder that violates his anus and while opening his eyes to better place his sweaty hands on the back of his knees, he risks a look down his lower-body and sees the red running down his thighs and spreading on the sheets.

It nearly puts him unconscious and he squeezes his eyelids between them as best he can because even if it is more difficult to think of something else when he does not see the ceiling, he knows that he is less likely to faint like that and if there is one thing that scares him more than to keep enduring that, it's to imagine what he could do to him if he were unconscious.

Izuku has the impression that he accelerates and goes deeper for a few seconds but he is not sure and as the man stops when he sees that he is beginning to react less, he simply stops thinking about it. He has neither the desire nor the time to linger on it and lets out a sigh of relief interspersed with pain when he removes the object.

Even in his semi-present state, the child is still aware that the other observes the jolts of his limbs and his body absorbing the echo of the torture he has just suffered, and he even has the impression that it is still happening inside him, like a shock wave that spreads down to his fingers.

Izuku cries, his body paralysed by pain while he simply feels himself lying there on the sheet soaked with his blood and sweat.

The pain is burning and he shivers with cold, wet with sweat from having resisted the instinct to scream, the furrows of his tears are frozen in his neck and the shame seems boiling when it spreads in his torso like a poisoned nausea.

He curses himself for not having a quirk as he sees the other moving from the corner of his eye, probably done masturbating in front of his ravaged body to recover the metal cylinder and wipe it out of his field of vision.

He hated himself and his weak nature, aware that he would not have done this if he had been normal, that he would not have allowed himself if he were not inferior by birth.

This is certainly not the time to do it but Izuku begins to contemplate his situation even when he knows that his stepfather has certainly already restored its shape to the petanque ball that will find its place under the bed in a few minutes as if all this had never happened.

He thinks of his hero dreams, the irony of his desire to save lives when he can barely breathe and swallow without feeling his body scream. To the harsh reality that it may be his fault if everyone always target him and that no matter how hard he tries, there is a good chance that he will never escape his lack of quirk and what it means for him.

Maybe being the disciple of All Might doesn't really have an impact and it can't have any, that it is just how things happen for people like him because at the end of the day, when the sun gives way to the moon, he is always defenceless and his life doesn't belong to him.

Maybe he did something wrong at some point, that he made an error of judgement, that he was wrong or that he said something wrong... or maybe not but in any case he knows what people think about him and people like him and that even if he found the strength or courage to talk about it to anyone, it would not take more than three seconds before his lack of quirk being sent back to his face as a justification, an excuse for his stepfather and he can't imagine a scenario where it improves from there.

Izuku watches the man move to his side of the room, approach the table on which he can see the cup of coffee that his mother made for him and which still smokes and pull the chair that is right in front of it to put his clothes on it in a small pile.

He watches him silently take the cup and pour a little of its contents on the pile of clothes and the table before bringing the mug to his lips and drinking the rest.

"Go take a shower. If someone asks, I spilled my coffee on you by accident," he says, bringing him back to reality.

"Yes, father," pronounce Izuku in his broken voice while staring at his black eyes.

"Change the sheets and don't let blood get everywhere," orders the man to disregard him just as quickly.

Izuku tries to get up but because he can't even sit, the man grabs him by the forearm and pulls suddenly so that he finds himself standing, his cheeks adned with new and still warm tears.

The boy takes the white sheet sullied with his blood and the plastic tarp that is always underneath and makes it a ball of fabric to carry them with his weak arms before leaving the room with his limping gait, naked.

He glances behind his shoulder and gets back on his way almost as quickly when he faces the gaze of the adult who sat on the clean mattress and who acts like he nailed his eyes to his red and blue butt-cheeks.

It's only later, when he is still under the stream of the shower that his stepfather come in to put his pyjamas on the edge of the sink. He wonders for a moment if he spoke with Kacchan when he entered his room to take the clothes, if he had questions or if he only heard anything, then he realises that it doesn't matter that much while turning off the water that pours over his head because Marcus would not act so calmly if he had the slightest suspicion of doubt among the other inhabitants of the house.

In fact, the man leaves the room after recovering the dirty sheets and Izuku waits until he's sure that he will not return to be able to collapse on the wet tiles and bawls his eyes out, the soap having only revived the pain in the trench of his buttocks and feeding his starving desire to collapse.

Once he is clean and he is done crying like a baby, he carefully dries himself by patting the towel on his bruised skin before unfolding his pyjamas to take the diaper he knows his stepfather has hidden there and hurrys to put it on, aware of the drop of blood that is still making its way along his thigh despite his efforts to stop it.

A sudden burst of fear grabs him by the torso when he meets his humiliated reflection in the mirror and a very specific thought crosses him.

What if Kacchan realised?

He knows that the other teenager would make fun of him until his death, and maybe even beyond. After putting on the rest of his pyjamas and starring at himself in the mirror with despair for a moment more, he can only cross his fingers and hope that it is not noticeable.

He doesn't know what will happen if it's not the case. He has no solution, no excuse and no alternative. It must go well, or it will certainly be the equivalent of his social death and the beginning of a long period of bullying and given the state of exhaustion in which he finds himself, Izuku would be ready to accept it.

With any luck, his classmates will kill him before his stepfather, he thinks distractedly as he returns to his bedroom, snubbing his violin and notebook to instead make his way straight to his bed, too tired to do his usual routine.

With a hand movement, he turns off the small bedside lamp that illuminated the entire room and lies under the blankets as best he can next to the other teenager who is already sleeping.

The alarm clock shows half past midnight when Izuku jumps out of a nightmare. The boy put a hand over his mouth to attenuate the noise of his stormy breathing a little and waits a few minutes to check that he has not woken up his classmate before getting out of bed to change, the viscous and cold blood against his buttocks preventing him from falling back to sleep.

He goes down to the cellar quietly, his lungs in apnoea and stopping at every crack of the house, afraid of having woken up anyone.

He finally arrives in the cold room with concrete floor and quickly walk to the far-end of the room where his childhood toys and things are stored. He hides behind one of the piles, ignoring the running washing machine that probably contains the sheets he soiled earlier and carefully moves the cardboard boxes that are on top to place them on the floor next to him.

He removes two and then opens the third one that reaches him at the torso and which is the only one that is not sealed with adhesive tape. When he opens it, it is without great surprise that he finds other protections such as the one he wears in a barely opened bag and he takes one before placing it on the ground to return the stack of boxes to its original state.

Once it's done, he uses it like a screen and lowers his pyjamas to change, without being able to hold back a frown when he sees the vermilion spot in its bottom and hurrys to fold it before getting dressed as fast as his body allows, being as afraid of being surprised here than he is cold in the poorly heated basement.

He wipes his sweaty hands on his trousers before taking the used diaper in his grip and begins the ascent to the second floor whilst feeling his heart bang more strongly than ever against his chest, aware that the hardest remains to be done.

He has no time to find an excuse for his situation, too focussed on his frail steps and the blood that beats at his temples. Fortunately, this time he does not need one and reaches the office at the end of the corridor without being called out and turns the handle slowly, having no doubt that he will have left it open for him tonight.

He enters his stepfather's office without turning on the light, that of the street lamp on the street corner coming through the window with open blinds, and Izuku goes around the furniture to reach his office trash can in which he throws the diaper without caring to hide it, used to the fact that no one enters here without triggering the man's anger, thus making it his secret den.

It always makes his mother laugh when she mentions it, galvanising herself to leave her man his space just for him, "to be in his man's space" as she likes to say. It is usually when she says that that the man joins her in her laughter and at that moment that Izuku's mouth becomes more familiar with his own bile.

The door closes behind him with a dry "click" and he crosses the corridor like an automaton to go back under the sheets and sleep... in vain because as soon as he lays down, his whole being begins to claim its right to move and starts turning in all directions in the hope of finding an acceptable position, without much success.

He suddenly stops when, by turning around, his arm accidentally passes over the blonde, finding himself all against him breathing in his shoulder blades and too aware of his back against his stomach that is doing a poor job containing his sudden panic.

He knows that it's too late to be remorseful, that if he moves too much he will definitely wake him up and he prefers for Kacchan to think that he put an arm around his waist in his sleep and that he put his hand on his stomach by accident rather than waking up now and accusing him of using him as he wants.

Izuku therefore forces himself to calm his breathing, awkwardly at first and then more frankly when he realises that the other does not flinch despite his breath grounding on the back of his neck.

Gradually he allows himself to close his eyes and relax his previously tense muscles, letting the smell and warmth of the other teenager invade his senses... until he succumbs to the sleep he amply deserves.