MHA Rewrite: Plus Ultra

The Midoriya apartment is quiet. The television hums softly in the background. Evening news. Some pro hero commentary. The smell of grilled fish lingers in the air. Izuku sits across from Inko, chopsticks resting loosely in his hand. The fish on his plate is untouched. A week. Results aren’t out yet. They don’t need to be. He stares at the glaze on the skin, watching the light reflect off it. He knows. He froze. He failed to activate his Quirk when it mattered. Failed to score. Failed to adapt. One reckless punch at the end doesn’t erase ten minutes of incompetence. Across the table, Inko glances up. “Is it not good?” He blinks once. “It’s fine.” He takes a bite. Chews. Swallows. It tastes like nothing. All Might hasn’t come by. Not once. No training session. No correction. No “You did well.” No “You failed.” Nothing. His jaw tightens. So that’s it? Disappointed already? Good. Screw him.  The thought lands harder than he expects. He lowers his gaze to his plate. I have the Quirk now. Whether he shows up or not. If the mentorship’s over, fine. I’ll train myself. He grips his chopsticks a little tighter. I can retake the entrance exam next year. Build control. Reinforce bone density. Condition for output. If I had just a little more time… Inko smiles sympathetically. She sets her bowl down carefully. “I have a surprise for you.” Izuku looks up, confused. She stands and walks to the freezer. When she opens it, cold air spills into the room. She pulls out a white box tied neatly with a thin gold ribbon. Izuku blinks. She turns, smiling softly. “Ta-dah!” She lifts the lid. Inside is a pristine strawberry shortcake. Not the kind from the supermarket. The cream is smooth and perfectly piped, glossy under the light. The sponge is even, delicate. The strawberries are uniform — deep red, polished like glass. A small chocolate plaque rests on top, decorative and unnecessary. Izuku recognizes it instantly. “…Mom.” She smiles, almost shy. “I wanted to give it to you after the results come in today or tomorrow… but I just couldn’t wait!” She sets it down between them. “Isn’t that from that pâtisserie near the business district? The one with the long line?” She smiles, a little sheepish. “Maybe.” His brows knit. “That place is expensive. You didn’t have to— our expenses are already—” “Izuku.” Her tone is gentle but firm. “You are growing up very fast,” she says, folding her hands in front of her. “But you are still my son.” She meets his eyes. “You don’t need to worry about money just yet.” Her smile softens. “You only need to worry about chasing your dream.” The words hit him harder than any punch. He looks down at the cake again. The careful decoration. The ribbon she probably kept intact all the way home. The fact that she must have stood in line. For him. His vision blurs. “Mom…” Inko steps forward and wraps her arms around him. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers. Not hopeful. Not waiting. Already proud. His shoulders shake once. Then again. He presses his face into her sweater, fingers clutching the fabric. The tears come quietly. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just relief. They cut the cake carefully. Inko insists on equal slices. Izuku wipes at his eyes once before picking up his fork. He hesitates for a second. Then takes a bite. The cream melts instantly. Light. Not too sweet. The sponge is soft, almost airy. The strawberry cuts through clean with just enough tartness. His eyes widen. “Mm! Just the way I remembered!” It slips out before he can stop it. Inko giggles, taking a bite of her own. “I knew you’d say that.” He takes another forkful, this time bigger. For a moment, the tension in his shoulders disappears. He looks younger like this. Not calculating. Not judging himself. Just enjoying something familiar. Inko watches him quietly, smiling into her cake. Ding-dong! Izuku and Inko both look up. A beat. Inko smiles faintly. “Were you expecting someone?” Izuku chuckles. “No…” He stands and walks to the genkan, still holding his fork for some reason. He leans toward the peephole— A massive eye fills his vision. He jerks back instinctively. “Gah—!” He smacks the back of his head against the wall. Inko gasps, then immediately covers her mouth, trying not to laugh. “Izuku?! Is it Yagi-san again?!” He rubs the back of his head, wincing. “Yeah— I mean, no! It’s All Might!” Inko freezes mid-step. “…All Might?” Izuku exhales once, half incredulous, half amused. “Why does he keep standing that close to the door…” He slides it open. Toshinori Yagi is bent slightly at the waist — far too close to the entrance — and straightens when the door moves. The wind seems to gather around him as he shifts into full presence. “I AM HERE!” The declaration booms down the hallway. Inko jumps. Izuku just stares at him. There’s cake on his fork. There’s frosting on the table. And All Might is standing in their doorway like this is perfectly normal. “All Might…” Izuku folds his arms, trying to look composed. Trying not to look like he’d been crying five minutes ago. “What are you doing here…?” All Might beams. “Young Midoriya! I come bearing news!” He strikes a pose instinctively. “Regarding your results from the U.A. entrance examination!” Izuku’s stomach drops. Results. Already? All Might leans slightly to the side, peering past Izuku into the apartment. “Good evening, ma’am!” he booms, then immediately lowers his volume by about twenty percent. “I apologize for the sudden visit. May I intrude for just a moment?” Inko blinks — then bows quickly, flustered but smiling. “O-of course! Please come in!” All Might steps inside carefully, trying not to appear too large for the hallway. His eyes flick briefly to the table. Cake. Tears faintly visible on Izuku’s face. Something shifts in his expression. Subtle. Then he straightens again. “Ah! It seems I have arrived at a celebratory moment!” Izuku stiffens slightly. Celebratory? “And a celebratory moment it is!” All Might declares, chest broadening. “Young Midoriya — as the newest instructor at U.A. High School — allow me to personally congratulate you for passing the entrance examination for our Hero Course!” The words hit the room like a dropped plate. Izuku stiffens. Hero course? His arms fall slightly from where they were folded. He doesn’t look at his mother. He can’t. Inko blinks in confusion — then laughs nervously. “Oh! There must be some mistake, All Might-sensei. Izuku applied for the Support Course entrance exam.” Izuku’s jaw tightens. He still doesn’t look at her. All Might’s smile doesn’t falter. “I am not mistaken, Midoriya-san.” His tone is firm now. Certain. “Your son took the Hero Course entrance examination.” A pause. “And he performed wonderfully.” Silence. Inko’s smile slowly fades. “…Hero Course?” she repeats softly. Her gaze shifts to Izuku. He finally looks up. There’s no triumph on his face. Just shock. And something else. Fear. Izuku’s pulse spikes. Why… Why did he have to reveal that now…?! And without warning me? He finally looks at his mother. Inko’s expression has gone very still. “…Izuku?” Not angry. Not yet. Just searching. All Might steps forward, cape settling behind him. “Allow me to clarify, Midoriya-san.” His tone lowers. Less theatrical now. More deliberate. “Your son has manifested a Quirk.” The word hangs in the air. “And at my recommendation, I encouraged him to challenge the Hero Course entrance examination.” Izuku’s throat tightens. Recommendation. Encouraged. That makes it sound optional. Inko’s gaze slowly shifts from All Might to her son. “…Manifested?” Her voice is small. “When?” Izuku’s fingers curl slightly at his sides. He had meant to tell her. After the results. After he knew. After he could prove it wasn’t foolish. But now— All Might continues, stepping fully into the responsibility. “I take full accountability for that decision,” he says firmly. “The fault, if any, lies with me.” He bows his head slightly. Izuku’s head snaps toward him. That wasn’t— All Might straightens. “To provide clarity,” he says evenly, “I would like to show you something.” He produces a small circular device from his pocket. He presses the center. A faint hum fills the room. A holographic projection flickers into existence above his palm. Izuku stiffens. “Uraraka-san?” In the projection, Uraraka stands in what appears to be a faculty office. She fidgets slightly, hands clasped in front of her. “Excuse me, um…” Her voice wavers, but she forces herself to continue. “Deku? The person with curly hair and freckles… the one who punched the Zero-Pointer…” Izuku’s breath catches. “Is it possible for me to give him some of my points?” In the present, Izuku’s eyes widen. All Might glances at him briefly, then back to the projection. Uraraka continues, rushing slightly. “I heard him say, ‘Just one point,’ so I thought maybe he was still at zero? If you can, sir… at least give him the points he lost because of me. He saved me.” She bows deeply. “Please!” The hologram freezes on that image. Izuku feels something heavy settle in his chest. She— She went back? After everything? Inko’s posture does not change. Only her eyes sharpen slightly as she watches. All Might lowers the device. “While her request was admirable,” he says calmly, “U.A. does not permit point transfers between examinees.” Izuku’s stomach drops. “But,” All Might continues, voice steady, “the Hero Course evaluation does not consist solely of offensive points.” He meets Inko’s eyes directly. “Rescue points are awarded at the faculty’s discretion.” A small pause. “Your son earned the highest rescue score in his battle center.” Silence. Izuku blinks. Rescue… points? All Might’s smile softens — not booming now. Just proud. “He did not hesitate,” he says quietly. “Not even for a moment. Your son is a true hero, Midoriya-san.”  Silence settles over the apartment. The hologram flickers out. The cake remains on the table, untouched. Inko is still standing. She hasn’t moved since All Might finished speaking. “…Leave.” Izuku’s brows lift slightly. All Might straightens instinctively. Inko turns her gaze to him. “All Might-sama.” Her voice is even. Respectful. Controlled. “If you don’t mind… could you please step outside my home?” All Might stiffens. For a moment, he looks less like the Symbol of Peace and more like a man who just realized he overstepped. “O-of course, Midoriya-san.” He bows deeply. “I apologize for intruding.” He glances once at Izuku. Then he turns. The door slides shut. The lock clicks. Silence. Inko remains standing. She stares at the door for a moment longer, breathing slow. Steady. Then her eyes shift. They settle on her son. Not trembling. Not furious. But firm. “…Why didn’t you tell me?” Izuku fidgets, fingers knotting in the fabric of his sleeve. “I-I was going to tell you… after I got my results…” Inko’s expression hardens. She crosses her arms. “And we’ve gotten your results, haven’t we?” Her voice isn’t loud. That makes it worse. “Why,” she continues, each word precise, “did you think it was acceptable to lie to your mother about something this serious?” Izuku’s throat tightens. “I didn’t lie—” “You did.” Not sharp. Not raised. Just factual. “You told me you were applying for the Support Course.” Her eyes don’t leave his. “You let me believe that.” Izuku looks down. He hates this part. This is worse than being yelled at. Worse than being hit. “I didn’t want you to worry…” he mutters. Inko stares at him. “And you don’t think I’m more worried now?” Her voice is still controlled. Strained, but controlled. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw you in that hospital bed?” Her fingers curl into her sleeves. “You were smiling,” she says, quieter. “Like you were proud.” Her breathing sharpens. “You call that something I shouldn’t worry about?” Izuku swallows. “I was fine—” “Fine?” Her voice rises slightly. “You call broken bones fine?” The dam starts cracking. “You think I can just watch that and be calm?” Her composure fractures. “So tell me, Izuku—how am I supposed to not worry?!” Now she’s loud. “How am I supposed to sit here and smile while you run toward danger like that?!” Her hands shake. “How am I supposed to deal with the possibility that one day you won’t come back?!” Her voice breaks fully now. “That you’ll leave me alone—” She’s trembling. “—JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER DID?!” Silence. Izuku swallows hard. “Mom…” He steps forward, arms lifting instinctively. He’s done this his whole life. When she cried, he hugged her. That always fixed it. He reaches for her— Inko turns sharply away. “No!… Don’t.” The words aren’t screamed. They’re broken. Izuku freezes mid-step. His hands hover uselessly in the air before dropping slowly to his sides. That hurts more than the yelling did. Inko presses her hands over her face, shoulders shaking as the sobs finally come. Not controlled. Not dignified. Just grief. “I can’t—” she chokes. “I can’t lose you too…” Izuku stands there, helpless. He’s faced villains. He’s shattered buildings. He has power now. And none of it matters here. Because he doesn’t know how to fix this. Inko’s face crumples. Tears spill freely now. She doesn’t say another word. She turns and walks down the hallway. Not composed. Not steady. Her steps are loud against the floor. The bedroom door slams shut. Silence. Izuku stands where he is. The cake sits on the table, half-eaten. Plates untouched. The air still smells faintly sweet. His throat feels tight. Guilty. Frustrated. Angry. At himself. At All Might. At the fact that doing something heroic only made everything worse. His phone buzzes. He looks down. Toshinori: You ok? Izuku lets out a long breath. He types. Izuku: What do you think? A pause. Then— Toshinori: :( Izuku’s jaw tightens. Another message. Toshinori: Come outside. I’m on the roof. Izuku raises a brow. He glances toward the closed bedroom door. No movement. No sound. Just quiet. He swallows. Izuku steps outside. The night air is cooler. He looks just ahead— —and nearly chokes. Toshinori’s gaunt face hangs upside down over the edge of the roof, hair dangling, hollow eyes level with Izuku’s. Izuku jolts. “Gah!” Toshinori’s mouth purses faintly. “Good evening.” A beat. Izuku frowns. “Climb onto the railing. I’ll pull you up.” Izuku exhales and steps onto the narrow metal railing lining the side of the building. His shoes scrape with a sharp metallic sound. The surface is colder than he expects. Slightly slick. “This is a terrible idea,” he mutters. “I am here,” Toshinori replies evenly. “That catchphrase doesn’t work in this form…”  Izuku straightens carefully, arms lifting instinctively for balance. The wind shifts, and the railing vibrates faintly under his weight. Toshinori reaches down and grips his forearm, steady and unyielding. “Hold steady.” “I am steady.” He is not steady. Toshinori’s other hand braces against Izuku’s upper arm. “Ready?” Izuku swallows. “Just—pull.” In one smooth motion, Toshinori lifts him upward. Izuku’s feet leave the railing with a hollow metallic clank. For a brief second, he dangles over open air— Then Toshinori guides him over the edge. Izuku lands on the rooftop with a sharp clang of shoe against metal plating. The roof itself is corrugated steel, faintly humming from the night breeze. Toshinori releases him once he’s stable. The city stretches out below, lights blinking between dark rooftops. Toshinori straightens and brushes his hands lightly against his trousers, as if dusting off the moment. He studies Izuku. Not dramatically. Just watching. Taking in the tight jaw. The red around his eyes. The stiffness in his shoulders. He turns away first. “Follow.” He walks across the rooftop, long strides quiet against the metal sheets, and stops near the far edge where the city opens wide beneath them. He lowers himself to sit on the ledge, legs hanging over the side. The wind pulls faintly at his coat. He doesn’t look back. He just stares out at the city lights stretching into the distance. Izuku stands there for a second. Then he follows. Izuku slumps down beside him, hunched, elbows on his knees. Toshinori takes a moment to compose himself. The wind moves through his hair. He clears his throat. “I take it it did not go well?” Izuku exhales sharply. “Nope.” A beat. “Thanks for that, by the way.” Toshinori glances at him. “I was afraid I disappointed you… now I’m even more afraid I disappointed my mom.” Toshinori’s expression tightens slightly. He understands exactly what that means. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought it would go smoothly if I… removed the bandage quickly, follow it up with good news…” Izuku lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, well, not everyone revolves around heroes.” He looks up at the skyline. “You should know by now heroes do an equal amount of harm as good.” A pause. Toshinori doesn’t flinch. But he feels it. He remembers a rooftop. An injured boy asking if he could be a hero. And himself saying no. A pause stretches between them. He could argue. He could lecture. He could tell him that heroes inspire far more than they wound. But he has already been the wound once. So he stays quiet. “Oh, and thanks for the heads up. Really appreciate it.” The sarcasm is thin. Not explosive. Just tired. Toshinori doesn’t argue. He just listens. Toshinori stares out at the city for a long moment. “…You’re not going to quit,” he says quietly. “Right?” Izuku blows out a breath. “Yeah. Obviously.” He rubs a hand through his hair. “She just doesn’t understand. I can do way more good than bad.” He gestures vaguely toward the skyline. “Besides, the world’s already dangerous. I could get the safest office job in existence and still—bam—get hit by a car. Probably ‘cause of a villain.” He huffs. “At least as a hero, I won’t die in some random accident.” A beat. “I’ll die saving someone.” The words settle heavy in the night air. Toshinori doesn’t look at him. “…You know how selfish that sounds, don’t you?” Izuku’s jaw tightens. “…Yeah. I know.” Silence. “But what am I supposed to do?” he continues. “Quit? I just got accepted into U.A.! I can’t just walk away.” His hands curl slightly. “I have a responsibility now.” Toshinori finally turns toward him. “You also have a responsibility as a son.” That one lands differently. Izuku clicks his tongue, frustrated. “Are you on my side or what?” Toshinori sighs. He looks out over the city lights instead of at Izuku. “Kid… I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through.” The wind brushes past them. “Or what your mother is going through.” A pause. “I never had anyone waiting at home for me.” Izuku’s brows raises. He looks up. Toshinori continues, voice steady but quieter now. “Before I became All Might… there was no one worrying whether I would return. No one arguing with me. No one asking me to choose differently.” He rests his forearms on his knees. “I had a mentor. And I had a goal.” A small exhale. “That was it.” Izuku stares at him. This is the first time Toshinori has said something about himself that isn’t heroic. Or instructional. It’s just… lonely. “And when you have no one to lose,” Toshinori adds softly, “it is very easy to believe you are brave.” Izuku’s chest tightens. He’s never seen Toshinori like this. Not smiling. Not booming. Just a man admitting something that sounds suspiciously like regret. Toshinori exhales slowly. “Kid… the correct answer is to continue.” Izuku looks at him. “You’re right. You have a responsibility now. To the people. To the path you chose.” He pauses. “But you also owe your life to your mother.” That one lands heavier. “You do not get to disregard her fear,” Toshinori continues. “You do not get to dismiss it as ignorance.” His gaze sharpens slightly. “And you do not get to hurt her… the way heroes so often do.” Izuku swallows. “…So what do I do?” There’s no sarcasm in it now. Just confusion. Toshinori is quiet for a long moment. The wind hums against the metal roof. “…I don’t know.” Izuku blinks. That’s not the answer he expected. “But you cannot run from it,” Toshinori adds. “You cannot choose your dream and pretend the damage does not exist.” His eyes shift toward the dark window of the apartment below. “You have to fix it.” A beat. Toshinori gives Izuku’s shoulder a firm pat. “Welp. I’m hungry.” He rises to his feet, brushing off his trousers. “To be honest, I assumed your mother would insist I stay for dinner. So I… strategically skipped mine.” Izuku exhales through his nose. “I can’t believe I used to look up to you.” Toshinori chuckles. “Me too, kid.” He stretches once, glancing toward the edge of the roof. “I’d invite you to grab something, but I think disappearing right now would get you disowned.” Izuku snorts despite himself. He walks toward the edge of the roof, hands in his pockets. “Just make sure you update me. First class begins April 8th.” He glances back at him. “Use it. Fix things with your mom.”  Izuku tightens his expression. He twists his body to look at him. “And if I can’t continue?” That makes Toshinori stop. He turns. The humor fades, just a fraction. “Then I’ll respect your decision,” he says calmly. “And I’ll replace you.”  He lets that hang as he continues to walk.  “Plenty of promising prospects from the entrance exam.” Izuku looks back at the city. He hums quietly. “That’s a lie.” Toshinori’s mouth twitches. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid.” He crouches, then launches cleanly downwards, disappearing over the edge. Izuku sighs and rubs his forehead. He leans back on his palms, staring at the horizon. A month. Fix things with Mom. Or walk away. The thought sits heavy in his chest. For the first time since the exam— He isn’t sure what the right answer is. Morning comes too fast. Izuku wakes before his alarm. He moves through the kitchen quietly. Rice in the cooker. Miso on low heat. He rolls the tamagoyaki slower than usual, careful not to tear it. He adds her favorite side dish without thinking. He plates everything neatly. Like that’ll fix something. Inko steps into the kitchen already dressed for work. She pauses when she sees the table. For a moment, he thinks she might say something. She doesn’t. “Mom—” She sits. “Eat before it gets cold,” she says evenly. Not angry. Not soft. Just closed. Izuku swallows. “I’m sorry about yesterday.” The words sound small. She doesn’t answer. Just the quiet clink of chopsticks against porcelain. Say something better. Say something smarter. Apologize properly. Nothing comes out. She finishes. Stands. Picks up her bag. “I’ll be home at the usual time.” The door closes. The apartment feels larger than it did the night before. Izuku stares at the empty seat across from him. I’ve faced villains before. This is worse. The apartment stays quiet long after she leaves. Izuku clears the table. Washes the dishes. Dries them. Puts them away. He stands there for a while afterward, staring at nothing. He tries studying. Opens his notebook. Closes it. He goes for a run. Circles the block until his lungs burn. Comes back. Showers. Checks his phone. Nothing. He drafts three different apology messages. Deletes all of them. The clock on the wall ticks louder than usual. By late afternoon, the sunlight has shifted across the living room floor. Izuku sits at the table again. Waiting. The sound of keys in the door makes his shoulders straighten instantly. The lock clicks. Izuku is already on his feet. He almost trips over the chair in his rush to reach the door. “Mom, hey— welcome home…!” Inko raises a brow slightly at his volume. “I’m home.” She steps inside, slipping off her shoes neatly. Izuku closes the door a little too quickly. “I’ve made dinner.” He says it like an offering. Like proof. The scent of simmered broth fills the apartment. Rice is already set. The table is arranged carefully. Too carefully. Inko pauses when she sees it. He stands there, hands awkwardly at his sides. “I… thought we could eat together.” A beat. He braces himself. Inko places her bag down by the door. She pauses. Then she turns to face him. “I’ve thought about it, Izuku.” Her voice is calm. Tired, but steady. “And I’ve realized something.” She folds her hands in front of her, almost to keep them from shaking. “You won’t stop. No matter what I say. No matter what I do.” It isn’t accusatory. It’s certain. “You’ll always find a way to be a hero. You always have.” Izuku’s throat tightens. “It’s what you’ve always wanted,” she continues softly. “It’s who you are. Quirk or no Quirk.” A small, fragile smile appears, but it doesn’t last. “I told you to follow your dreams.” Her fingers curl slightly. “I’ve already taken that away from you once.” The hospital room. The apology. “I was going to do it again.” Her voice falters now. “Oh, Izuku…” She looks down, and when she looks back up, her eyes are shining. “I’m just so afraid.” Izuku hesitates, then takes a small step forward. “I know, Mom… And I’m really grateful you care about me that much.” His hands curl at his sides. “But I have a responsibility. I can’t just pretend I don’t. I have to save people.” Inko shakes her head, tears spilling freely now. “I don’t care, Izuku. I don’t.” Her voice rises, not in anger — in desperation. “I don’t care if the rest of the world is hurting, as long as you’re safe.” Her hands clutch at her sleeves. “You don’t owe them anything. There will always be heroes. Stronger ones. Faster ones.” Izuku looks down, frowning, caught between guilt and resolve. Inko steps closer. She lifts his chin gently. Her smile trembles through tears. “But I suppose… there’s no hero like you, hm?” Izuku smiles, small and relieved. Inko cups his cheeks in both hands. Her fingers tremble. Tears are already spilling down her face again, but her eyes are steady. “Promise me,” she says, voice thick. “Promise me you’ll always come back to me.” He swallows. “Promise me you won’t push yourself past your limits. If you need to run away, you run. If someone else can handle it, you let them.” Her thumbs press slightly into his skin. “You are not allowed to throw your life away.” Izuku hesitates. Just for a moment. Then he nods. “I promise.” She searches his eyes, tears sliding freely down her cheeks. Looking for doubt. For hesitation. After a long second, she nods to herself. “Okay.” Her expression tightens again. More tears fall. “And don’t you ever—” She shakes him once, firmly. “—ever lie to me again. Do you understand?” Izuku’s head wobbles in her grip. “Y-yes, Mom! I got it! I’m sorry!” She sniffles hard, eyes red, still crying openly. “Good.” She lets go of his face, quickly wiping her tears with her sleeve even though more immediately replace them. “Because if you do,” she says, voice still trembling, “villains will be the least of your problems.” Izuku lets out a shaky laugh. She stares at him for a second— Then suddenly pulls him into a tight hug. “I love you,” she sobs into his shoulder. Izuku freezes for a beat before hugging her back just as tightly. “I love you too, Mom.” She cries softly against him for a moment longer, then pulls back, sniffling. “Please be safe,” she says quietly. She wipes at her eyes again, trying to compose herself. “Okay… I’ll just clean up…” She turns and heads toward the bathroom, still sniffling. Izuku watches her go. His chest feels lighter. But heavier, too. Izuku stands there for a moment after the bathroom door closes. Then he exhales. Long. Relieved. He rubs the back of his neck and smiles to himself. He pulls out his phone and types quickly. Izuku: We’re okay now. No need for replacement. Three dots appear almost immediately. Then— Toshinori: :) “…Idiot,” he mutters, but he’s still smiling. He pockets his phone and looks toward the bathroom door. April 8th. A month. He’s still in this. And this time, he won’t hesitate.