If I could talk to my teenage self, the one thing I would say is…

Don't let go.

A twenty-seven year old Hiro Hamada sat in his apartment kitchen writing in his thought journal. As girly as it may sound, he found writing things out helped him stay organized and sane when he was working on projects, so he tried writing out his feelings. And it made him feel lighter whenever he'd close the little notebook.

I would tell myself don't let go. Don't let go of the small memories you're making but think aren't important.

There are some things he vaguely remembers about being a teenager. High school is one of them; of course, he was in and out of high school quicker than shit, but still. He couldn't even remember the principal's name for Pete's sake! Or what his favorite class's teacher's name; although, to be fair, he wasn't good with names unless he associated with them outside the class period.

Don't let go of what you once wanted, but don't need anymore. But remember how you felt when you were reaching for them.

Botfighting. His first love. He could still feel the rush from the first fight he went to, and all he did that time was just watch; watch and mentally size up and prepare for when he was able to fight. He remembered the harsh beating of his heart as he walked up to the guy who was taking care of the cover charge, how the man – no matter how scary he looked – seemed to be a little concerned about a twelve year old in the Red Light District, on a school night no less!

He also could remember the first time he won a bot fight and the loser didn't take to kindly of a kid beating a grown man. That was the first time Hiro was ever punched in the face.

Hiro could recall almost an approximate amount of times Tadashi, his older brother, bailed him out just in the knick of time.

Don't let go of the way your aunt stress eats and gives the cat donuts.

Mochi never should have had donuts, but the cat was spoiled. Spoiled rotten up until the last day of that fat cat's adored and loved life. And how his Aunt Cass would complain about the hips in her jeans needed to be just a bit stretchier so she could stress eat more.

Hiro would always laugh and suggest sweat pants. But Aunt Cass, not matter how laid-back the woman always seemed, when she wasn't crunching numbers for the café, she never wore sweat pants unless to sleep in.

And Tadashi. Don't. Ever. Let. Go. Of. Tadashi. But you will, and I wish you didn't have to know how that ends.

He laid his pencil next to the book as he finished writing for the day, his timer on his phone going off signaling he had a meeting he had to get ready for. He didn't want to continue that journal prompt anyway. And it's not like his teenaged self was actually going to be able to read that journal entry, and even if teenaged Hiro did, he wouldn't listen. Grown up Hiro would know.

Tomorrow's journal prompt?

What's your biggest regret?

Letting go.

(-)

I have never, ever written a drabble thing before. I tried not to go over 500 words... But I went a little over.