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The Way We Lie, Steal, and Die

this amnesia!izuku au has been bouncing around my head for ages, so I wrote a scene for it. if anyone likes it and wants me to write the rest maybe it'll give me the motivation to actually write it lol

“I know it may be hard to believe, Midoriya-kun, but these sessions are for your own benefit.” 

Glancing up from his notebook from where he sat cross-legged in the corner of the long couch, the silent boy glanced once from where Aizawa sat on the other end to Hound Dog’s desk. “I’m certainly glad you feel that way; I imagine this would be a lot less enjoyable if you had other motivations.” 

The dog-mutant sighed and closed his own notebook. “Maybe you can help me understand, Midoriya, what the broader context is.” Inui was grasping at straws and he knew it; honestly when he’d heard about an amnesiac student needing therapy he’d been overwhelmed with the responsibility of it, but when he heard it was Midoriya Izuku, the same boy who’d nervously visited his office after the first day of school right before he was leaving to stutter out an introduction and ask for his autograph, all he’d wanted to do was give him back the memories of all the other heroes the boy had surly met. 

What he was greeted with the next day was not a nervous hero fan, rather he found a withdrawn and somewhat spiteful boy who had no interest in mandated therapy. “These sessions are whatever you make of them; if what you need from me is just a quiet and safe place to work then you can feel free to use the desk or even just the table.” 

Each of the passed three sessions were the same; after their initial re-introduction Midoriya would sit on the farthest part of the couch, place a pillow on his lap, and work semi-silently reading and writing in a composition book. 

“The problem is that I don’t need anything from you; I don’t even want your time.” Making the first eye contact since they’ve met Inui searched deep into his blank expression, “If it were up to me I wouldn’t be here.” 

“Why is that, do you think?” He couldn’t help but ask. He saw Aizawa level him a scandalized glare and he felt a little called-out, too late though as the damage was done. Midoriya hummed one long tone before going back to reading the notebook on his lap. So much for progress.

A tense silence settled over the room after Midoriya’s curt response. Hound Dog shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling the weight of the boy’s indifference. The version of Midoriya sitting across from him was a far cry from the student he’d heard so much about—this boy had no spark in his eyes, no eager determination to help others, no nervous stuttering or wide-eyed enthusiasm. There was only cold distance.

Aizawa, watching from the corner, leaned forward slightly. “Midoriya,” he began, his voice even. “No one’s forcing you to change, but you should know that we’re here to help you. You’ve been through something traumatic, and it’s okay to ask for support.”

Midoriya’s eyes flicked toward Aizawa, his expression unreadable. He closed his notebook with a deliberate, almost defiant motion and set it down beside him. “I don’t need help,” he said, voice low but firm. “I don’t need to remember who I was. That person—he’s gone. Why is everyone so desperate to bring him back?”

Hound Dog frowned, feeling the weight of that question. He glanced at Aizawa, who remained silent but vigilant, then returned his gaze to Midoriya. “You’re still you, Midoriya,” he said softly, choosing his words carefully. “We’re not trying to bring someone else back. We’re trying to help you.”

Midoriya shook his head, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “I don’t want to be him,” he muttered. His fingers clenched into fists as he spoke. “He—he was, he’s not who I am. He’s definitely not who I want to be, getting into trouble like that. Someone that weak, an obvious liability, I don’t need that.”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything, Hound Dog leaned forward, his voice gentle yet steady. “Midoriya, that’s not true. You were strong—are strong. You’ve faced more than most people your age ever will. And no one expects you to go through it alone.”

Midoriya’s expression hardened, and he stood up abruptly, pacing to the window. He stared out into the school grounds, hands trembling slightly. “I don’t understand why you all care so much. That person you’re talking about—he doesn’t exist anymore.” He turned back, eyes cold, almost accusatory. “Why can’t you just let me be who I am now?”

Aizawa finally stood up, his tone low and controlled. “Because who you are now is someone who’s running away.” His words were sharp, but there was no anger behind them, only concern. “I understand wanting to forget, but you don’t have to erase yourself to move forward.”

Midoriya flinched at that, a flicker of something—anger, maybe, or fear—crossing his face. His voice came out strained, barely above a whisper. “Maybe I don’t want to move forward. Maybe I don’t want to be a hero anymore.”

The weight of that admission hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Aizawa’s eyes softened, but Hound Dog remained still.

Midoriya swallowed hard, turning his back to them again. “Everyone expects me to be something I’m not,” he continued, his voice shaking slightly. “But I can’t—I don’t even know how.” He glanced around their faces, taking in the slight signs of horror in them and felt his anger burn; his eyes sparked green when he spoke. “I never asked for this! This school, if you can even call it that, is a saw trap of fake education! I didn’t sign up for this, and I don’t know who in their right mind would.”

A long pause followed, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock. Aizawa stepped closer but didn’t touch him, keeping his distance out of respect. “Midoriya,” he said quietly, “no one is forcing you to be anything. You have choices. But closing yourself off from everyone? That’s not strength, it's not even a choice, it's avoidance.”

Midoriya’s shoulders tensed, and he glanced back over his shoulder. “You don’t get it.”

Aizawa’s gaze softened. “Maybe I don’t, but I’m not giving up on you.”

For a moment, the room felt unbearably still, like the air had been sucked out of it. Midoriya looked down, lips pressed together in a tight line. He didn’t respond, but something in his posture eased—just barely.

Hound Dog spoke up gently., “You don’t have to figure everything out today. Just take your time. We’ll be here.”

Midoriya didn’t say anything, but he slowly returned to his seat- the anger in his movements less sharp. He picked up his notebook again, though he didn’t open it this time. The silence stretched on, but there was a small sense of progress, a crack in the wall he had built around himself.

For the first time since the session began, Midoriya looked up, meeting both Aizawa and Hound Dog’s eyes. There was no gratitude or warmth in his gaze.