What Remains

I first crossed paths with him in 2021, back when My Hero Academia was taking over my screen, my thoughts, and what felt like every corner of the internet. Like so many, I was pulled in by the sheer coolness of his design—his plague mask, his sharp eyes, the quiet danger that clung to him like a second skin.
At first, it was just a fleeting crush, barely more than curiosity. Another name, another face. At the time, I loved someone else, though looking back, it didn't run nearly as deep.
I've selfshipped for as long as I can remember. Since I was ten, I've built little worlds in my head with fictional partners—most of them temporary, most of them fading once the obsession burned out. The longest one lasted two years. I thought that was the peak.
I thought I'd always be this way: loving fictional people because the real ones around me made it seem like I was impossible to love in the first place. And I was terrified, terrified that this would be the only kind of love I'd ever know.

Then in 2024, he resurfaced.
Out of nowhere, his name, his image. Him.
I was falling out of love with something else at the time, drifting. And when I stumbled across a random Overhaul x Reader fanfic on Wattpad, something cracked open in me. I didn't expect it to hit the way it did. I didn't expect to feel anything at all.
But I did.
It took until February 2nd, 2024, for me to admit it to myself:
I was in love.
And for once, I didn't run from it.

What I Notice

I’m drawn to his restraint — not as virtue, but as effort.
The way he holds himself together until it costs him something.
I notice the anger he keeps contained. Not because it’s beautiful, but because it’s honest. Because it leaks through calm whether he wants it to or not.
I notice how rigid his care is. How limited. How easily it turns harmful. And still, how real it is to him.
I don’t excuse him. I don’t soften what he’s done.
But I stay with the parts of him that feel human in ways that aren’t comfortable — the determination, the obsession, the refusal to let go even when it ruins him.
These are the things that remain.

Notes from the Keeper

This space isn’t here to prove anything.
It doesn’t ask for forgiveness, and it doesn’t offer absolution.

I don’t stay because he is good.
I stay because recognition doesn’t require goodness — only honesty.

This shrine is not a promise of change.
It’s a record of attention. Of tending something quietly, without expectation.

Some things don’t need to be saved to be kept.