Waking up slowly, the pain that he'd expected to wrack his body was surprisingly absent. Replaced by a sultry tingling that ran across his spine like ecstasy.
Hell was surprisingly cold, he noted; he'd expected to be met with unimaginable agony -maybe even the scent of his own boiling flesh- the very second his mind began to regain control of his senses -if his mind continued to exist at all. But now, to his muted surprise, all he felt some strange cobble beneath him and a sticky presence all across his form.
However, this observation was viewed as if through a thick fog, his mind completely detached from the information flooding into his brain. The blistering light shining down onto half of his face, scorching his retina, was barley acknowledged beside the raising of his arm that blocked the rays.
For the briefest of moments, he sat there, like this, completely content, the sensual crackle across his body keeping him from acknowledge his surroundings whatsoever. But as time progressed, more of his senses returned to him along with the smell of iron and rotten, stale poultry and the taste of mould on his tongue; causing Izuku's mind to come back, piece by piece.
The night before flooded through him when he recognised the sticky, sweat iron pressed against his body was infact his own dried blood. His eyes shot open again, letting the twelve-year-old be greeted by the world. Dry membrane of his eye met the seemingly ice-cold air, causing thick tears to roll down his face.
That, and the memories, he remembered how the air felt rushing through his hair, the freedom as he almost grew wings in his decent. But then he also remembered the pain as his feet met with concrete, his ankles bending against themselves and his knees folding in.
Now these recollections let him come fully into himself. Izuku pressed two open palms against the alley floor, he tensed his abdomen and strained his arms, thrusting his torso up. Now sitting up, he looked down, with dread, towards his legs. They where not broken, but parts were ripped apart, holes that where surrounded by the largest concentration of dried blood.
It did not take a genius to realise what had happened, Izuku Midoriya had jumped. For a second, he thought he might actually be dead, despite not finding himself in hell like he rightfully deserved, but he dismissed that thought. Because he could still feel, much to his disappointment. How he wished that the sticky yet flaked red could just leave him alone.
He wished that he could just close his eyes and wake up in his room four again, before any of this had began.
Before he had decided to do this.
Before Izuku Midoriya had decided to kill himself.
Vomiting was the first fully conscious thing he did, releasing his guts over the pavement in an extraordinarily disgusting display. Every jeer and every punch and burn and stab that had built up over the years had left Izuku apathetic.
But right now? Riding this high of god only knows what, he could only think of his mother, the mother that, despite his every effort to block out of his life, had always shown that she cared, that refused to leave him with no one.
Izuku had abandoned that, spat on that love his mother had given him unconditionally and jumped. He'd given his life, despite how clear she had made it that the only thing she wanted was for him to live. His mother only wanted him to live happily and safely and he jumped.
He continued to heave, disgust only brewing even further inside of him.
What was he to do? Go home? He didn't even know what day it was. But he knew, if one thing from his life carried forward from his apathetic march to that rooftop, was that sitting still did nothing. If he wanted to get out of this situation, he had to do something. Before, that something had been suicide, but now, with an unnaturally clear (albeit frantic) mind, he determined his first course of action was to stand.
Heaving himself up from the floor and to his feet took more energy than he thought was needed, his knees felt like they where made of jelly and his back twisted till he thought it might snap. But he clutched the wall for support and staggered until he was flat on his feet. He shook his head, trying his best to rattle the stars from his vision, but try as he might, the black and white spots continued to speckle every where he looked.
Izuku stayed like this for a while, leaning against the wall of the alleyway, taking deep breaths and try his best to both think and stay remiss. It was hard, to support his full weight against his legs, even harder when his actions of the past day (was it just a day, or more?) tried their best to claw at his peripheries. Normally, Izuku would embrace them, carrying the memories weight knowing that his big realise was near, but now he tried his best to ignore his own pain instead of wallow in it.
Something completely new to him.
But try as he might his brain, as if determined to try and drag him back to the darkest depths of despair, would not let up. So he tried his best to calm down, to calm down, to calm down.
Five things he could see, he needed five things he could see.
The brick wall,
the cobble floor,
tattered cloth,
his own blood,
and a foot-
Who was that.
He was instantly on full alert. His brain, which had been running circles around itself, now found itself back in control as his mind, honed from years of bullying, deliberated on how best for him to run . First off, he didn't recognise them with all the shadows and viscera but he wasn't from his school at least. Probably a homeless person? They were wearing armour though, metal and hard, but completely ruined and deformed in every way. Even older blood coted almost every inch of the man's form than his own.
Running should be his first instinct, and it was, but he just couldn't. From the very little exposed skin he could see, the man's body was covered in burns, black and unnatural; a bolt of pity shot through his already frayed emotional whims. He inched forward, prepared to run at any given moment, he shouldn't do anything, he should run. He might get stabbed, or kidnapped, or raped; but the man looked so hurt. Izuku couldn't not do something
The face of the sleeping man was still, but twisted in confusion and agony, it was one of the reasons it took so long to recognise him. His face was normally in a cowl of anger and hate, but, his mind noted with unhelpful mirth, the Devil of the Shield looked agonizingly peaceful in agonizing sleep. The second he saw that, fear bolted down his spine like ice water being sewed into his back.
Sure he believed the man innocent of many of the crimes accused of him by the initial court hearing, the first of which was the rape of Myne Sophia, that didn't stop him from being guilty of everything after that. A cold blooded murderer that had killed so many heroes that he had became the de facto symbol of villainy to All Might's Peace. No civilian casualties were one of the man's unspoken rules, but would that hold up under a situation like this? He didn't know. How could he?
How could Izuku know? He's never met the man, he just watched him almost religiously. This man was only the catalyst that lead him down the route of his own destruction. Pity was an emotion he felt when looking at him, but fear superseded that.
Crouching down, he lightly pushed against the man's shoulder. He murmured slightly, shifting uneasily in his slumber, Izuku flinched.
Trying again, with no little hesitance, he waited in bated breath.
Grumbling expletives, the man leaned forward, Izuku jumped back.
The shield flinched as well, appearing on his feet in an instant, shield razed and eyes wide. They both gazed at each other, he felt himself shake, it's eyes were cold and the shield suddenly flashed in a green glow, abruptly shifting to a brutal visage of spikes and iron half Izuku's size. His position on the floor, which he fell once the man awoke, did not help his nerves as the man towered over him. His form seeming almost all encompassing.
"Kid," his voice was low and methodical, even if it was scratchy from under use, "I need you to walk away, forget whatever you saw-" the mans eyes, where hollow and spiteful, it was clear that he wasn't feeling empathetic "-or I'll kill you,". It held a sense of authority that made his legs quiver and eyes water. He was shaking harder; the shields presence radiated a feeling of dread Izuku had unknowingly associated with the name.
Each piece of research, each hole he dug, he learned more and more, which was why he knew just how easily that this man could kill him. He wouldn't. He wouldn't! Izuku knew this, he did! But just looking at the man felt so much more weighted then it ever could when looking at his visage on a computer screen. This wasn't a symbol of why he couldn't be a hero, of all of societies problems, no, in that one moment, it was a beast, looming over him with searing apathy.
One step, then another and another. The man backed away slowly, until finally he turns his back and walks, slowly and with a sense of purpose.
That man, the man that had shattered his world view and showed what life really was, walked away. He followed, slowly at first, until he broke out into a light jog until he followed just behind the man. The costume used to be what the once hero wore when in UA, it was what he was going to wear as a hero, but now, it was tattered and in shambles. It provided no protection at all, at most it might prevent a light punch. But even then, the metal, charred black from the Shields flames, might not even be able to resist that.
The shield stopped, then Izuku did, moments away from bumping into the ragged green rags on the man's back. A cape, his mind notes, it was a wonder that it remained after the years that it had been on the back of this man, but it was still there. The top eighth anyway.
The man glares around his shoulder, his shield's gem flickers with sharp red light as the temperature raises, Izuku gulps. "What!" It wasn't a shout, no it was more of a growl, the words spat through clenched teeth as the mans entire body heaved. He was angry at him and that hurt more than Kachan's quirk ever could, both the fear and the disappointment stinging him down to the bone.
He didn't know what to say, but he couldn't stay quiet. He's done that long enough and it led him to abandoning his mother; he would never do that again, Izuku Midoriya refused to stay quite ever again. "I… I don't know where to go," it was honest, because he didn't, his only option was home, which was about half an hours walk away which was ample time for anyone to notice his... bloodied appearance. He couldn't go to the police, they wouldn't care. Neither his school. Everywhere was a none option.
The man looks at him and flinches, the action was so small that if Izuku hadn't trained himself to be able to read into the most infimatesimal twitch, he wouldn't have seen it; maybe he felt pity, looking at a teenager covered in blood must make him feel bad, which is good right? Villains don't care about that kind of thing, so maybe he wasn't about to be blown off his feet with his shield.
Izuku felt pity and respect for Naofumi Iwatani when he stood back in a crowd, looking at his life and finding out about how it works. He could see the process that led to the present and how -while going around and doing admittedly evil deeds- he still tries to keep uninvolved people, uninvolved. But now, with the Devil of the Shield towering over him, he's never felt as scared in his life. Never felt more like a quirkless Deku.
He knew that he -probably- wouldn't be killed, but even then, the possibility still stood; the shield had never been seen in his normal state like this, he only ever saw him when coiled in flames. As far as he knew, he liked to do whatever he wanted when he wasn't consumed by... whatever that part of his quirk was. But at the same time, hadn't he saved his life? It hurt to think about that, his mind trying to veer him away from the graphic day beforehand, especially as the stench of iron and mould that had (and still did), roll over his senses. But it was true, so did that mean he was safe?
For so long he'd been certain on what he had to do, but now, after being so close to death… what if he'd been wrong? What if after being framed, Naofumi Iwatani just went mad and Izuku just happened to miss everything that pointed that way, or he'd just conformed under confirmation bias. Were all the connections he formed false? He didn't know. He didn't know!
He wouldn't be killed, he wouldn't!
"Oh." The man's voice sounded small, completely unaware of his metal struggle, or just indifferent to it. He shifted on his feet, as if pondering to himself, before he let out a heavy sigh. The man's eyes shifted, looking at nothing until he sent a glance towards him. Izuku wondered what he was waiting for, was it a part of his quirk, if so than what?
Accept Invite?
Flinching, he looked at the box infront of him, staring in shock. He'd read about this, many articles have been posted about the Devil of the Shield's quirk, most of which were published by the man's brother.
Apparently he was able to force his own (and a select few people of his choosing's) body to go past their limits and enhance them to be stronger, faster, more dexterous. Because of this and the nature of the other part of his quirk, he had the first ever recorded 'booster' type quirk.
But according to interviews and other things Izuku had dragged out from under obscurity, he'd learned that this wasn't all of it, that there was something else going on. He's encountered thousands of redacted files and publishing about the nature of this 'revolutionary quirk', but he's never learned what. Somethings about the quirk 'Shielder' was so important that the HPSC would mark an admittedly dangerous A-class villain as an S-class just because he had it.
"Accept it," he flinched again, startled by the mans low rasp, his voice was firm and didn't leave much up to question. What was this going to do, he didn't know, which was confusing, and terrifying. More terrifying to be honest.
He did, not much changed after, he didn't feel like he suddenly gained any strength or power, though he did notice something glowing in the top of his vision. Once the periphery stopped glowing, he saw two little boxes. He swivelled his head in surprise, but the boxes stayed in his periphery. So, he trailed just his eyes after the boxes, that sat in thin air as if suspended.
One held his name and the other held Naofumi's, two lines sat there, one green and the other blue. Izuku's blue one was completely empty, only a dotted outline, while the green one was completely full. Meanwhile, the Shields barley had a sliver in both. It was fascinating to look at. Lapsing into obscurity when he didn't look at it and coming in front of everything when he did. It was like it knew when he wanted to look at it and when not. It was a quirk. Not his, yes, but it was cool to experience one first hand.
Even if was just little text boxes.
"Don't hold your breath or you'll puke," what. His mind snapped from his mental rant.
Light overcame him, blinding his vision, the cool air of the alley along with the stench of iron dissipated in an instant.
He fell to the floor, his legs buckling and collapsing onto rotten wood. But he didn't stay there long, snapping his head to look at his surroundings in bewilderment.
Teleportation. It was not an ability he remembered the shield having, was it something he just gained? No that didn't seem right, but even then, with such a useful ability, why would you not use it more often? When the shield fought with All Might, which he had only done a handful of times, he had not shown this skill at all, though it did explain how he travelled between Hosu and 18th Ward as quickly as he did. Maybe this suggested a time limitation?
How interesting.
Once again, the man broke him out of his stupor, giving him a light kick on the side, which felt more like a tap than anything malicious. He flinched regardless, the already finely tuned fight or flight reflex he had gathered over his short life snapping into action in an instant. But instead of exhaustion or half hearted annoyance at the threat like he did with his bullies, Izuku felt fear, for what was the first time in years.
He stumbled to his feet again, his newly aching knees not helping his venture.
They were in a room that, in his humble opinion as the son of a struggling single mother who lived in a shitty five room apartment, was garbage. Two rooms, one was closed but he assumed it was the bathroom; but from the one room he could see, well it wasn't up to any government safety standards to say the least. Exposed wires for the lights, holes that lead to the outside or other rooms.
Even what looked like an entire Air conditioning unit that at some point must have fell from the outside wall and landed through the window; the wire that kept it attached to the outside wall trailed in after it, swaying steadily in the cool breeze the broken window let in.
Most of the place was covered in scorch marks that was obviously made by the Shield. Holes not, naturally formed from the weather like a majority of the other ones, but through fists and feet, were sprinkled across the walls.
Every necessity was there, but so far into disrepair that ones luck would have to be immeasurable to even successfully attempt to turn them on. A bed maid of carboard and newspaper, a gas cooker that looked to be decades out of use and a dingy Tv that was half burnt and half melted. To say that a pang of pity hit his chest was an understatement.
The smell of rot and blood was a lot less prominent than in the alley, but it was defiantly here as well, the black speckles in the corners of the room didn't go unnoticed by him, neither did the peeling wallpaper or the water damaged carpet. There had to be a leaking pipe, because even the ceiling was damp, letting small beads of moister fall every now and then to form puddles on the floor.
All of this was illuminated only by the outside, the lampshade in the centre of roof did nothing but hang lifelessly, completely useless; the rays of light shattered off specks of dust that danced in the air before settling down into the deep motes of the semi exposed floorboards. It made him wince, but only slightly, his eyes not yet adjusted and stinging with it's dryness.
Iwatani didn't stand still to long, not giving this place more than a disgusted snarl before striding towards the only other door in the apartment. Izuku stayed rooted to his place, not daring to move without permission, his body aching in fear. The man clutched the handled and tugged, the rusted and aged hinges gave out, the entire wooden form falling from its frame. Neither of them said a word, but he could see the anger the Shield felt in his arched back.
The man, slowly turned his head towards him, his eyes narrowed, loathing running so deep that it felt like he had fallen to the bottom of a wrathful ocean. The Shield took a deep breath before speaking, the words seemingly coming out with quite some effort, "Get in, wash yourself, then leave. If you take even a second too long, I'll send you home in an ern.".
Izuku nodded franticly, his breath quickening as he snapped forwards and into the apparent bathroom, the shield propping the door against the door frame after he entered; giving him a frail sense of privacy. He quickly ripped off his uniform, and looked around, there was a shower that looked just as disgusting as the rest of the apartment. He turned on the water and shoved himself into it.
He squeaked, but did nothing more, the cold blast didn't subside, the harsh stream stayed a constant chill, almost like hail bashing against his weak frame. His already weak legs almost gave out, but he clutched onto the decaying tiles of the wall and hung for what felt like hours. Dripping hair pressed against his head, pressuring his scalp and clutching onto his cacophony of thoughts. His body felt like it was in a thick putty and his mind dipped into a dark fog. The cold was scorching.
But he did not let himself fret for long, scrubbing all the visual evidence of his mistake from his body, the dried blood came off in flakes of jelly the feeling of them catching under his fingers made him almost want to vomit. Yet he continued, all the dirt from his hands, forearms, biceps and chest. Then his legs and feet, all of the dirt going down the drain in swirls of brown and pink.
After all that, he tilted his head up, his eyes open, and let the water wash over him. It had a somewhat salty taste, something had to had to have contaminated the water source to give it such a taste, perhaps some rodent had drowned in it. He would not be surprised. But after he knew his hair was somewhat clear, he almost leaped from the shower.
He grabbed his uniform off from the floor and held it under the freezing stream, much like his own walking cadaver had, much and blood came from the fabric like swaths of paint. But he didn't dwell on it, instead scrubbing it with his nails and made sure that not a single centimetre of it had even a speck of dirt or viscera on it. He was meticulous but fast, he didn't dare try and upset the Shield.
Once he had finished, he clamoured through his uniform and quickly moved the door to the side, it was admittedly heavy, but he was relatively fit so it took only a couple of seconds of strain before he could worm his way out of the bathroom. The shield looked him up and down, scowling all the while, he stood like a deer in headlights hoping he did nothing to displease the man.
"Where do you live?" he felt a chill run down his spine, like a a bucket of ice water had been dunked over him, why did the shield want to know that? Was this so he could do something against him, to try and quite him. Would the Shield Demon kill his mother?
But despite his complete unwillingness to tell this man even a scrap of information, the Demons glower had his words fall from his mouth before he could think. "Musutafu, I-I live in Musutafu," hopefully that was vague enough that his mother would be safe. Musutafu was a big place, one of the biggest cities in japan, so there was no way that the Demon could find him... right.
The man sighed through his nose. The shields gem glowed green for a couple of seconds before a small stack of yen fell out. The man walked over and shoved it into his hands, "This should be enough for your fare, the station is south from here, ask around if you get confused. There should be no more problems now, right brat?". He stood in a confused daze for a moment before he nodded his head as fast as he could.
He turned on his heals and stormed for the door, his socked feet stamping against the carpet in deep sploshes, the damp garments pressing against his skin as he dashed. But before he could go, a dark green surface sprang from nothing. The only thing he could do before impact was raise his arms infront of his face. The boys forearms took the brunt of the impact before he slid slowly to the ground.
Fear was coursing through his veins, cold against his skin and cremating his bones, he rubbed his forearm and snapped his head up to have a look at what caused his fall. What he saw was a visage, something about as tall as him, blocking the doorway. It was a shield, no, more a 2d representation of a shield, the surface was smooth except from a large, wing like design that stretched from it's bottom to it's top.
"Brat..." the voice was menacing, barley containing it's rage. He slowly turned his head and saw the man, no, this was the Demon of the Shield, looming over him with narrowed eyes and squared feet. It was barley two feet away and it's shield, once barley as big as the mans chest, was now taller than Izuku was. The mans teeth where pressed against his upper lip and his hands clawed at his side. The man looked like a wild beast.
One step, then a second followed by another. He was merely inches away now, the smell of ash and rotten flesh now more prominent that he himself was cleaner. In an instant the demon hefted him up by the collar and held him against the door, his head bashing against the ceiling as he did so. "Did I say I was finished? No, I don't think I did," his voice was calm, but the edge to it felt like it was pressed against his throat.
"So, before you go, let me give you a little bit of advice~" his eyes squinted and mouth quirked up, the demons voice rose with false cheer. He was dragged from the ceiling and to only centimetres away from its face. He then spoke with acidity, barbs spat like vipers venom, "If you ever even think -think!- about telling anyone about this place, about me, I will burn everything you love to the ground and make you watch. Am I clear?". In that moment, the only thing Izuku could feel was his bladder giving way.
But despite of that, he nodded. "Good," the man let go of his neck and let the small boy fall down to the ground with a hard thud. His tone was cold, ice cold, looking directly felt like he had been tossed onto of a bonfire in the middle of a blizzard. He smirked "There, it doesn't hurt to be patient, does it?" he nodded again and stayed in his place on the floor.
After a couple of seconds of awkward eye contact, the shield sighs through his nose, before turning towards the room and walking towards the cardboard cot. Izuku watches him, waiting for the first instant where he could run, his legs tensing in preparation for his sprint. The man dropped to his cot and lay his head against his wall, his eyes shut and his breath evening out.
For only an instant, Izuku thought the man went to sleep and rose slowly as to not disturb him, the boy tried to his best not to wake up the man. But when he rose only slightly, one knee still flush with the ground, a floorboard creaked below him and one of the mans eyes peaked opened. He looked at Izuku, half coached on the floor, in his soaking wet cloths hugging he frame and eyes wide eye's like a deer stuck in headlights; well it must have been amusing to him because he smirked, a cold and empty smirk, and waved a hand. "Don't try and be quite, brat, you can't sneak around me,".
Izuku's heart sank and yet he stayed exactly still, not moving a muscle as the two of them kept eye contact, what did the shield want? It made no sense, he was meant to go now right? It felt like he should be going, he had the money to get a train and was next to the door, but didn't the shield say he had to have permission? Would going unannounced offend him? What should he do? What can he do?
Once again, the man broke through his mental fog and rose a single brow, "You going or what?", his disposition had changed from pure intimidation to one of amusement, probably looking at the week and pathetic Deku scrambling around like an gnat as if it where a funny little puppet on a sting; flailing around in fear. He probably saw his mental strife and thought that his earlier aggression had frozen him in complete fear -he was right to assume that- and was now enjoying his suffering immensely.
But despite that, Izuku only saw an opportunity and sprang to his feet, turned on his heels and ran through the door. The wooden door bashing against it's hinges as he did so.
People where avoiding him, but that made sense, a boy drenched head to foot in the middle of summer, smelling of piss and looking like death; Izuku wouldn't want to sit next to him either. But he ignored them all, he was a professional in this field so it came very easy, instead he thought.
This was a dangerous thing when your name is Izuku Midoriya, his own thoughts are what caused his downward spiral towards that ledge and while those thoughts where now returning thanks to the lack of immediate threat to his well being, that did not mean that he couldn't think of other things in parallel. One of said things, was the Shield Demon, of course and another his mother: most pressingly of all, what was his excuse.
Many went into his mind, some included the truth, but he knew that was out of the question. To tell his mother the truth about everything, about how he intended to die and how he had been treated... well that was plain impossible. Should he both trying to explain? Should he just stay quite and let his mother come to her own conclusions?
That was stupid.
Letting his mother do that would invite her into suffering, which he simple couldn't allow. How about he was staying at a friends? That wasn't possible, she knew as much as him that he had no friends.
Izuku sighed through his nose and turned his head, the bullet train was screaming across the tracks, its wheels shrieking silently bellow him as it carried the metal cart towards Musutafu, he had been on the train for about forty minutes, so he had about another twenty left in transit. Even after that, he would have to go home from the train station. Which highlighted the point that he had no idea where in Musutafu he would be arriving.
The sun was now a good way towards the horizon, it might be six or seven o'clock. He knew that he had been away from home for longer than he ever had been, but he didn't feel anxious or apathetic.
Ever since he opened his eyes, it felt like his world had been dipped into a giant tub of bleach, washing away all of the muck and hatred from him. Because he had abandoned his mother, and he had no idea how he could ever done that.
So should he tell the truth or lie?
He didn't know, he really didn't know, he couldn't continue on how he was before. He had to get serious, because the only thing worth living for was her, and he had almost thrown that away.
He grimaced at the glass of the train and bit his lip.
Eyes closed, he breathed in through his nose, infront of his apartment on nocking knees. It felt as though his heart had been dragged through his oesophagus and Katsuki had decked him in the stomach. The familiar sent of the outside washed over him and calmed his heart some what, but that didn't change his circumstance. Because he was a selfish bastard, because he could only focus on what was dragging him down. His mother had to suffer through whatever hell she was in now. He bit his tongue.
Golden hour shone onto his back, but he didn't acknowledge it, instead he knocked on the door to his apartment, as a chasm consumed his stomach. The wood vibrated lowly, and rattled against the hinges. He couldn't help but grimace further, the noise uncomfortably loud for his aroused senses. No response.
He blinked in muted surprise, before knocking again. No response. He knocked louder and continuously. Still no response.
It felt like he swallowed a lemon, like he had been thrust under the sea and had to claw his way to the surface. Why wasn't she answering, why wasn't she coming to the door. But his answer soon came, to him, as his frantic nocking only met air. The door had been opened.
Looking into the hallway of his apartment, he could see her. Hair in disarray, deep black gouges under her bloodshot eyes and red trails forging their way down her cheeks. Her white dressing gown was also damp, probably from the now dried tears that had probably came over her. Which made sense, because he had been missing for two days.
TWO.
He had been unconscious in that alley for two days and left her to suffer as if she meant nothing. As if her, his mother, who had raised him with only the utmost care and love, meant nothing.
They stared at each other, a worlds worth of distance standing between them, but then she started to cry, sob even. As she leapt and attached herself to him. He could only continue to blink.
Before, much like her, he started to cry.
Because this was what he would have left behind if the Devil of the Shield had not intervened. Had that strange, terrifying man, not helped him in his darkest of moments, this would be all that was left, his mother sobbing on her own. Not a friend or even her husband their to comfort her.
His knees gave and he sobbed into her scalp, muttering muted apologies into her hair as if that would have changed his decision. The two of them cried in their doorway for what felt like hours.
She led him back in after that, and he continued to apologies, to say sorry, to renounce himself entirely. But he knew that would not make up for it, even if she said it was fine and that she was their for him. He had to make it better.
Taking a glance at the names in the top left of his vision, he took it as a memento, if he ever, ever, started to go in the same pit he had crawled into last time, he would look at this black box. To remind himself that he was nothing but, scum. He was useless and his only purpose was this angel that he had taken for granted, he would refuse to turn his back again.
He would ignore everything else, every other dream or nightmare that humanity tried to shove onto him, because he would not fall for their tricks again. This moment, this ratty apartment and his mother, was all that mattered, he would make sure that he or anyone else could never ruin it again. Before he had let what the others thought choose, but now? He knew that this did not matter. That the only thing that mattered, was this.
A small smile came to his lips as his mother brought through half of a microwaved Katsudon that she had made some time ago and stored in the fridge. They ate and they stayed silent, but he knew now, that the Devil and The Heroes and That Bitch and Katsuki and the World could all go die. Because this was all that mattered.
