Falascant @potato
There is a place long left forgotten...

There’s a little stretch of road by Izuku’s house. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not all that important. Just a road that winds through a bit of a residential area before it leads to a train station. A blank canvas, ready to be molded to whoever designs to give it something.

There’s not really anything there, but Izuku walks it everyday. It’s so close by, and besides that, he needs to use it to get home for dinner. Unfortunately though, it doesn’t seem like much of anyone else walks through it. It’s a part of the charm, Izuku would suppose. Little things left behind, little things that belong there more than anything else.

Izuku walks through it everyday, and everyday it feels a bit more familiar to him. He sees the little candy wrappers left, thrown over by the kids that live in the area. He remembers to pause and fix the vase left in remembrance for a street cat. He runs his hands along the cracks in the walls, bits and bumps that he knows should be fixed. Bits and pieces that make this road less of a road, and more of a place. 

Izuku walks through it everyday, and everyday it feels a bit more familiar to him. He sees the little candy wrappers left, thrown over by the kids that live in the area. He remembers to pause and fix the vase left in remembrance for a street cat. He runs his hands along the cracks in the walls, bits and bumps that he knows should be fixed. Bits and pieces that make this road less of a road, and more of a place. 

Nothing’s wrong with the place. In fact it’s perfectly normal, if you gloss over the fact that it’s less taken care of than it should be. There’s mold in the cracks between the road and the walls of the backside of houses. There’s trash littered on the floor, never enough for a trash bag to be required, but there. There’s an old vase, flowers never replaced, left in remembrance. As if the place was nothing more than an old memory that only Izuku really remembers. 

One day, Izuku starts leaving things. Little things, little changes, left. New flowers for the vase, changed every once in a while when it starts to wilt. Maybe he stops by with a trash bin to collect the trash never taken back and leaves it there. A scrub between the cracks, a little fix for the mold left there. A new coat of paint for the walls, now cleanly uniform instead of the faded pieces. The road itself is left unchanged though, nothing was wrong with it. 

Nothing was wrong with it. 

Slowly, the road stops being a place, and starts becoming more of a road. Izuku doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want it to just be the same, generic road that he’s seen so many times over, he wants it to be the place he walks on the way to dinner. Izuku continues to leave things. Not the same things, but items, little bits left behind to make the road a place instead of a road. 

A piece here, a souvenir there, and maybe it starts to feel like more of a place then a road again. But Izuku knows it will never be the same. So he makes it his. He leaves things, his things now, behind, in an attempt to make the road his. Izuku thinks it works. He can see the bits of himself left behind here. 

Slowly, the paint begins to fade. Izuku doesn’t fix it. He doesn’t think that this place was ever meant to be fixed, it was meant to exist. And exist it does. The road exists as it does, as it has. Izuku walks along the road and leaves little things behind once more. 

A notebook, paper once written on, used, and left amongst the road, but never forgotten. Izuku doesn’t forget what he leaves here. Flowers, placed in a vase, but never replaced. When one vase ends up being full, he simply adds another to place when the flowers are dead and rotting. What was once given as a gift is never taken back by Izuku. Not really anything of worth to the rest of the world, but to Izuku, it means something. And that seems to be good enough. 

Slowly, the road stops being a place and starts becoming more alive within the dead and rotting, the little bits left behind. It grows, it thrives on the things left behind, and Izuku always leaves things behind, nurturing the road. It becomes beautiful in an obtuse way, becomes beautiful from the memories left there, beautiful bits of life consumed to feed it’s growth. 

Izuku remembers, for he doesn’t want to forget. The memories are his, one more thing he has left behind. Once it was a forgotten place, once it was a road, but now it is a place of things left behind. Oh, and what has been left behind. Memories, acceptance, forgiveness, pieces of the past that he has shedded like a second skin to leave behind in a place that it should be left. 

He wonders if he is like what he leaves there; something of the past to be left behind, to be remembered but not used. A relic, an eternal existence of the past, but never the present or the future. Maybe, Izuku does belong to the past. It would explain some things, but at the end he always shakes his head and heads home for dinner. 


Izuku has left so many thing on that road, so many pieces of him that he thinks that maybe, that is his home. That is where he belongs, that is where he comes back to every single day. But he knows that he he is welcomed elsewhere, as well. Izuku doesn’t dwell on it and starts leaving a few more things. 

Flowers are like a ritual by now. Izuku always leaves a new one everyday, to commemorate a new day, one more day of existing, of continuing. Notebooks are rare, but Izuku writes far more often than he should, anyways. He starts writing stories and poems, ideas never spoken to be left with the flowers. Trash, trash he thinks is not a thing that exists here. They’re simply pieces once used to be left behind as they should be. This is a place of things left behind, and wrappers, empty bottles, and napkins are surely items once left behind. Although, he reminds himself, that those should not amount to enough to require a bag to collect it. The road should have no reason to be disturbed, should have no reason for things to be taken from it. Slowly, the flowers start to overtake the road, and the papers; the poems, the stories, the ideas left behind cover the walls. 

Izuku panics, only slightly, before he calms and remembers that nobody besides himself seems to use this place anyways. No one else has left pieces of themselves here, no one has any reason to look for what has been left behind besides himself. Everything is perfectly fine. 

Izuku is gifted a camera, and he decides that he should leave pieces of where he’s gone behind as well, memories of places and not just ideas and remembrance of things long gone. The pictures bring a bit more color to the place than the long-left flowers and paper do, last a bit longer. They join the papers on the walls, sequestered amongst the flowers, little fragments of where he’s been and what he’s done. Izuku never appears in the pictures himself, he’s the one who needs to take them, and besides, these are meant to be pieces of himself. He doesn’t need to be in something that is already a part of him. 

The place starts to feel a lot more like a place he should belong than anywhere else, despite the fact he never spends all that much time there, for all he leaves behind. Izuku knows he belongs, but he hesitates to call the place home. Home is where he goes back to. But he’s here every single day, isn’t he? Home is with his mother and dinner, where his family. But this is the place where he’s left himself, a place belonging solely to him, a place undisturbed where he can be himself more than anywhere else. Where he goes back to has his mother, but this is the place where he is truly himself. Which one is home is left for later. 

He comes one day, when he has much of nothing else to do, nowhere he really wants to go, and starts arranging things, moving the flowers around, just changing a few things. Not much he tells himself, he’s not taking anything, just moving a few things around. He needs a change. He needs to change. He can’t change himself, so he settles for the place that is solely his, the place where he is himself, the place that is him. 

It’s just a few changes, it doesn’t take too long, and when he finishes, he feels better. A bit more changed himself, as well. He leaves, and goes elsewhere, a place he wants to go. He always returns though, always. This place is his, he is this place. It’s interchangeable at this point, he’s left so much of himself that this place is practically him. A place to walk through, a place left behind, a place best left in the past, but still existing and changing in the present nonetheless. 

He never stays long, but he’s always there. He’s always with the place, the place is always with him. Izuku wonders if it has a name other than what he calls it, but he never checks. It’s his, so why should what other people call it matter? It’s the place of things left behind, nothing more and nothing less. 

Nothing is wrong with it. 

One day, when going to the place is nothing more than second nature, when he’d welcomingly call the place home, he finds someone else there. He wants to drive them out, wants to scream at them to leave, that this place is his, but it isn’t. Not really. So he doesn’t. He instead welcomes them. Lets them in. Maybe he is too trusting, but nothing has happened yet to this place while the person is here, so he brings them in. 

Izuku tells them of the Place of Things Left Behind, but never forgotten. Explains that this place is meant to be undisturbed. The Other, the person he found within, for whatever reason accepts this, and suddenly, Izuku finds a person to belong with. They never talk all that much, they don’t ever meet outside of the place, but they leave things behind, discuss old memories, and become maybe friends. Friends who only know each other with this place, but friends nonetheless. They both belong here, people who leave themselves behind in a place that nobody else ever goes. 

His friend, the other person he meets, asks if he can bring someone else, someone who would appreciate this. Izuku wants to refuse, knows he should probably refuse so that the only people here are ones who are willing to find this place themselves. But he also trusts them, a trust he has not left behind yet. So he agrees, and another person joins them here. They already know what this place is, when they step through the threshold. They know, and they’ve brought something they want to leave behind, but not forget. An old plushy, left amongst the long-left flowers is their gift for being welcomed here. 

The second person is bright, is honest, more lively than either of the duo that was here before. They all know that that is good, that what this place is does not mean that it should be dark and deeply sad, that things left behind can be happy things. But more often than not, they admit, what they want to leave behind is not all that happy. Which is why nothing ever is forgotten. The third of their number agrees, and suggests that maybe, they should write about what is left here, why things are left here, so that even when the three of them are gone, these things will still be remembered for what they were, what they currently are even if they’ve long forgotten what has happened. Length never becomes important, but now, attached to every piece, every little thing left behind has what it was originally there for. Izuku admits that he had almost forgotten what the original vase was there for, that most of these flowers are here from a ritual. 

Soon the other two bring another, and Izuku is pleasantly surprised at the addition. They take a second look over the flowers, over the place and ask if they can dedicate a vase to a person left behind as well. That maybe some of these things were left behind for no reason than being left, but that does not mean the meanings can change too, and people can be things left behind. Izuku agrees, and they look into people left behind, people long forgotten by those outside. Writings, poems, pictures, things left behind for those left behind are welcomed. 

Slowly, the place becomes even more lively. The other three ask to bring other people in at their own discretion and judgement. Izuku agrees, for at this point he admits, while this place is his home, it does not belong solely to him anymore, and provided this place stays as it is when the three have found it, then he sees no problem. 

Slowly, more people come, and as they do, the place feels a bit less like his home and more like a place where he is welcomed, where he is accepted. That he is accepted in a place where he once thought would be nothing more than a place where things are left behind, that he was something that would be left behind. And well, while he never truly finds a place that is as home as what he had made, he doesn’t feel like where he goes is as foregin to him anymore.

Even as the Place of Things Left Behind but not Forgotten becomes more popular, becomes more well known to the point where everyone has put equal amounts of themselves in to never be taken back, he knows that he had created it, even if he is never known to be it’s creator. He walks through it every single day, and sees what has happened with it. He sees what other people have left behind, to never be forgotten. He sees his writing, his poems and pictures. He sees the long lines of long-left flowers, and newer ones left in place of a person to be remembered that was left behind. He sees people, happy and sad, people who will leave things behind. Maybe one day he’ll bring his mother here, to show her what he’s done. He wonders if she’ll believe him. He decides that doesn’t matter. He knows, and that is good enough for him at this point.

Nothing will be wrong here. 

He still leaves things himself, afterall, this is where he’s left his heart and that is something he will never forget. He has left so much of himself that he can no longer tell what he has not left behind, but that is fine with him. Izuku is happy to leave himself behind, he knows what he gives, and he doesn’t think he will ever stop. For things left behind is not the same as things left to be forgotten, and he doesn’t think he has to be either quite just yet. 

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