The faded beams of dusk tucked itself away and sprang forth the dreaded morning.
His eyes looked around the room in a quiet plead to end the years he has left, to take his last breath then and there, to crumble and fall limp on the dingy mattress he has claimed as his own for years now.
His eyes were ocean green, the shade of the sea on a bright summer day, salty waves crashing on white sand in a rhythmic and fluid dance. His eyelashes were long and hid the darkening circles that encased his eyes, it hid the fact that all he ever wished and wanted was something he was detained for.
Pale was his skin, making his dark features stand out, practically enhancing his features, his visage transparent like a poltergeist. Light tan dots — freckles — marred his skin. Like the endless sky, these freckles splattered itself from his nose and cheeks, fraying into other parts of his face and dispersing to rest of his body.
He remembers a time where he wanted nothing more than to wish his freckles were the grime and evidence of a nice day, of playing outside rich green fields and having a great time with friends; he has spent countless showers scrubbing his skin in hopes that it might be true.
But alas, being quirkless was a definition greatly influenced by hopelessness.
Resting his head on the window, green curls pressing against his cool forehead — long as they may be, they still held the same vivaciousness as if he was still a young boy — he gazed at the distance, squinting at the vibrant colors of today (of tomorrow, of yesterday and every other day) he looked past the rolling hills filled with houses and shops, settling his dry stare at a shiny building. (He doesn't want to be here, he wants to be there, there, there)
(He wants to be a hero.)
A dozen or two thoughts swirled his head, causing athump-thump-throbsequence to play in his temple. His eyes fluttered shut, drenching his drab gray room into a colorless tone, he sighed — warm breath fogging the clear pane of glass — feeling a coil slowly winding his chest andsqueezing.
His hands wound themselves around him, rough palms gliding across scarred tissues in remembrance of reality and the utter devastation his life has become.
If it weren't for the thick iron bars encasing him within — forcing his battered wings to curl inwards — he would have already been falling (flying) to the ground, where the last note of sound that he will ever hear is of when his body cracks on the pavement.
_
The bus ride had been filled with light snores and hushed conversations.
The air was thick with sleep, the gentle rocks of the bus further lulled the third years to succumbing into the abyss — he understood the reason why; the week before, they had their midterms, several physical tests in succession and wakeful nights from studying and researching for their thesis — it was a copious amount of work, but even then, it's a step in the right direction.
To the path of heroism.
He, as well, wanted nothing more than to drift into a numb abyss of delusions and dreams, to be dead to the world for such a brief time. It was tempting, of course, it was, to lean into the window and shuffle into a more comfortable position, letting the thrum of the engine and soft noise of his classmate lull him to a fleeting nap. He had considered the options the moment he sat, feeling the familiar ache in his eyes and undeniable urge to risk responsibilities in favor of getting some rest.
Alas, today was an important day and he absolutelyrefusesto miss, even just a single second of it.
Though their efforts certainly weren't in vain — with their tests passed and projects submitted — it was high time for a well-needed rest. Of course, they had looked forward to their lazy weekend and time to catch up with their families — some were planning ahead and already packing a bag, fixing their room and taking clothes out for the day — it had become an (annoying) shock that their pain has yet to end.
Katsuki had counted the performance task as a vacation. For a month, they were to be helping a hospital not so far from here. At the mention of another academic activity, he immediately steeled himself for more sleepless nights and a cotton-filled head — a lingering thought at the back of his head told him that UA is one of the best for a reason, rest at the peak of their training needed to be earned, not gained.
Aizawa soon reassured that the grade for their homework and the like will be taken from their current performance — the ever tired man huffed at his students as though they really believed that UA would ever work their students to death — relief was thick and palpable at the utter of the assurance.
Even Katsuki sent out a small 'Thank you' to whatever deity that looked over them.
His brief reassurance was then followed by the details of where and when this performance task would begin.
At first, it was a little confusing. Three years of vigorous training and planning for the day they debut certainly did not require them to learn about illnesses and what happens behinds the closed curtains of a hospital.
Katsuki has always believed that even a Hero like All Might can still be taken off guard — he nodded along with the rest of his classmates as Aizawa sternly expounded that heroes are meant to save lives, experimenting in areas like these will only secure their formidable expertise in situations.
After a few weeks of mundane and boring classes, on the day of their trip — Iida found it responsible of him to wake everyone upfour hoursbefore they were to leave and visit the hospital.
Of course, many of the slightly more polite division of the class answered with "Five more minutes, man", barely keeping up with their manners and bubbling tiredness. Iida, not entirely heartless as he seemed to act, was quick to give them their privacy and happily gave themexactlyfive more minutes, which started the moment he closed the doors.
The lesser division, those who value sleep over anything — a group Katsuki is not ashamed to be part of — had a spectrum of retaliation from frustratingly throwing their extra pillow at the shadow of Iida's form to quickly pushing Iida out their room and forcibly locking him out.
Overall, they were ten minutes early and ready for their trip, much to their dismay.
With Kaminari's head lolling around the axis of neck, Katsuki left him to do whatever imitation of a bobblehead he was doing and gazed outside — uniform spick and span from Iida's persistent reminder with both hands gloved up and tucked away inside the pocket of his jacket, paired with a pastel orange scarf that helped him keep warm.
From what he remembers, the hospital was fairly far from Yuuei. Nearly an hour and a half away from the bustling life and stressful vibes of the city. Even then, they were told to pack for mountainous terrain, giving a little, subtle hint that the location was a mountain somewhere.
Up until the performance task, he hadn't even recognized the name, lest the area, they were going to. When he received the pamphlet, where all the excess information was printed on with a stapled permission later that he mailed to his parents (he also noticed that he was paired with Uraraka— of all people — and Tokoyami, who he was kinda friends with) he Googled out the address and did a quick sweep of what Wikipedia had to say about Natsukashii Musutafu Regional Hospital.
_
Natsukashii Musutafu Regional Hospital EST. 1942-present 懐かしい (:inflection, hiragana なつかしい, rōmaji natsukashii) is located at the Daijisen Ward, near the Shogakukan Forest Reserve for Wildlife. It was first owned and founded by Doctor Nakada Suki, a psychologist who later on also founded the Psychological Welfare Councilin Musutafu and started petitions forlaws protecting the mentally ill, the hospital then was two stories and about 50 square meters.. (...)
(...) The hospital was first used for the victims during the Hiroshima/Nagasaki Bombing and an evacuation center of the crippled.. (...)
(...) It is currently owned by the 4th generation descendant of the Nakada family, Nakada Yumieshi, also a psychologist with neurology experience. She has then turned the hospital into a mental ward for the mentally ill..(...)
(...) It currently houses 114 patientswith a success rate of 87%. (...)
_
It took several paragraphs for his brain to inform him that the hospital was not the regular hospital for your broken bones and stuff, it's was amental ward.
He had little experiencewithina mental ward, he landed on occasions where he was recommended to be in one —you know, since obviously Katsuki has the worst anger management — and a few more times after Kamino — once again, feelings were shit and all that, he has no time to comprehend what motherfucking trauma is — needless to say, if the people inside where anything like him, he would surely have a hard time understanding the point of the task.
Muttering to himself, he read a few more articles about the hospital. Reading along the line of a few selected individuals who were detained for their welfare.
Bullshit.
(Katsuki took the liberty of naming himself the leader of the trio, hence his rather vigorous need to outdo the other two.
Opening his notes app, he pasted the important information from Wikipedia (a very reliable source, fuck you) and typed in a brief message. He kept the message short and sweet, censoring a few curse words — cause obviously Yuuei had to be an absolute dick and check over their emails — he typed in a few recommendations for the other two to search and added in a few links, In case they fuck up.
When he was finally satisfied, he finished it with a period.
Copy,
open messages —
Group Project,
compose message,
Paste
send.
Simple as shit.)
With a jerk, the bus slowed down to a stop in front of a tall, iron gate.
Well, would you look at the time