Can you ever be a hero if all you cause is pain?
One of the weirdest experiences I had while growing up in my new life was the fact that new mother talked to plants. Maybe it wasn't much different from the way my mom talked to our dogs and made voices for them as though they could talk back, but plants were a little too much for me.
Well, actually, maybe not the weirdest experience because grocery shopping or going to the park was a whole thing all of its own. I saw the most strange people in my life during those times, ranging from the time I saw a woman with a galaxy for eyes cooing at me from my spot in the shopping cart new mother was pushing, constellations swirling in her irises; or the time a man and his son had a tail and hands for feet playing in the grassy area of the park near my new home, with the thickest sideburns I'd ever seen on any person before.
But I digress.
New mother talked to plants.
I had toddled up to her as best as two year old could, my balance not as great as it had been before but way better than when I first started out learning how to walk again. I don't know if I just sucked at walking this go round or what, but it often felt odd trying to maneuver my small frame around how I would like.
She was babbling something to her magenta hydrangeas -which by the way, not born colorblind, new father did in fact have yellow eyes- that I couldn't entirely make out, but sounded along the lines of "being good plants and growing so well."
The rest I couldn't quite figure out but she definitely baby talked to them as much as she baby talked to me, although I think she once gave a stern lecturing to the dracaena by the front door, but I couldn't be too sure.
New mother turned to me as I walked up to her, her hazel eyes looking almost green in the soft streams of sunlight filtering in through the patio door. She smiled one of those tender smiles that had my stomach swirling nervously because I felt like I didn't deserve such a look, not when I still harbored weird feelings of detachment from her.
"Come, Momoe-chan," she beckoned, arm drawing me into her embrace and pulling my side into her chest. She told me something along the lines of the hydrangeas wanting to say hello or have a good day, I couldn't be quite too sure, but I did know that it would make her happy if I played along. All those times pretending to be a little faery in my first life came in handy.
"Hello," I said, peering down at them. New mother was practically beaming from beside me. "Very pretty flowers. Pretty flowers."
New mother was probably explaining to me about the flowers and what they meant, something about the heart I think, and going on and on in the soft tone of hers that had me realizing early on that new mother was probably never a wild child, but always soft spoken and demure. The neon green hair was in fact natural, and hardly neon at all, just very bright, like the color of the dwarf umbrella tree she kept on her bedroom window sill.
Later in life as I got a better grasp of the language, I learned that new mother's quirk allowed her to connect with plants, feeling their emotions and helping them to grow. She'd been raised a city girl with a disconnect to all that was around her because there was never enough green, never enough plants, and the world was too quiet and loud all at the same time, absent of the melody of nature and nothing but a cacophony of grey.
A warm hand laid itself on my shoulder and I turned to look up into the eyes of my father, a smile on his face that made the yellow of his irises seem all the much brighter.
"Are you looking at the pretty flowers, Megumi?"
Megumi - a name that I also later learned in life once I understood Japanese better - was a nickname for myself, but at the time, I just thought new father didn't know what my name was. Kubo Momoe is my new name, and Momoe meant 'a hundred blessings.' Something I would grow to dislike, because I felt like that I was not in fact a blessing at all, and new father was basically calling me 'blessed' by nicknaming me Megumi.
"Pretty flowers!"
Both new parents chuckled at my childish mimicry, something that couldn't be helped while I navigated Japanese. But it was fine, because as much as it discomforted me to have them looking at me like I was prettier than the vibrant magentas in front of us, I found it oddly satisfying in a way that made my heart feel a little lighter.
One thing that I carried with me from my past life to my new life was my love for sleeping in. Or, sleeping in general really.
Before, I used sleeping as a way of escape. I would be holed up in my room doing a number of mind-numbing tasks, idly scrolling away on my phone or reading books. Then I'd hear the start of yelling from down the hall, my parents' voices rising in octaves to the inevitable yelling matches, and I would quietly shut my door and get into bed, pulling the covers over my head and dreaming of places far beyond the walls of my house. Or when I would look down at the pile of homework I pulled from my bag, the pages crinkled and corners bent, eyes staring but not seeing until I fell asleep at my desk, the world going dark around me.
This life had none of those problems from before. Well, the homework was still there actually, and in much larger, more foreboding quantities than before, that included studying upon studying, but it didn't give me the same sense of doom than it did before. I still found myself shut away in my room, but there was no yelling coming from further inside the house. Instead it was typically quiet, my (new) mother typically outside in her garden, grass stains on the trim of her long skirts while my (new) father was away at work. Even in the moments that he was home, it was quiet save for the occasional bout of soft laughter and giggles coming from the happy and content couple.
Even with the birth of my younger sister did our house remain serene.
It came as a surprise to me when I, at seven years old, was informed by my (new) parents that my (new) mother was expecting a child. I hadn't been an only child in my previous life having had an older brother, but I was the youngest sibling as well as cousin. I was also the only girl in a family full of rowdy boys. That's why when I was told, I was only slightly apprehensive that I was about to be an older sister. That trepidation only grew when we found out that she was going to have a girl.
I was to be a big sister to a bright eyed little girl, one that would inevitably look up to me because of my age and gender, and the mere fact that I would just be her onee-san.
The apprehension did not stem from the fact that I was upset that I would not be an only child anymore or that I feared my parents would not love me anymore, their attention focusing on the baby.
Over the years, I grew accustomed, if not still only slightly hesitant, to my (new) parents' doting love and affection for me. Even if I still remembered and loved my mom and step-dad, it was hard not to come to love and care for my new family. They were kind and supportive, and while still a little lost on certain ways to properly parent and raise me, they were good people who tried their best. For the most part, I got used to their hugs and kisses, used to the feeling of my (new) father's warm hand on my shoulder or my (new) mother gently caressing my cheek. The way that she always prepared me delicious home-cooked meals and silently did my laundry. The way that he brought home sweet desserts after work or drove me around the city in his car just for the sake of doing so.
I was apprehensive because I didn't know how to be a good older sister, and was thoroughly scared shitless of screwing up.
I liked kids. Well, at least I did.
Becoming a kid made it hard to like them after spending countless hours around them and them viewing me as one of their own. I wasn't an authority figure who was older than them. I was their same age and they treated me like they would other kids. And maybe I did grow a slight contempt about them, had even done things to hurt them, something I had never done before until I was reborn.
But then again, I grew a contempt for people in general.
It was like an itch almost. I would witness children and adults alike doing something that I didn't like, and something grew within my chest. A sense of judgement. A sense of thinking that I could set things right even at the cost of their wellbeing if it means that I could alter the course they're going, if even just for a second. And I would feel a sense of deep satisfaction when I passed judgement upon them, hurting them, stopping them in their tracks.
And when the feeling would pass, I would become scared of myself. Scared of that feeling, that itch, at the fact that it felt so right to inflict pain upon others. It wasn't who I was before I died. Back then, I would never hurt anyone or anything. I was passive and didn't believe anyone should suffer or hurt for any reason at all. But then I died, and came back, and the feeling to hurt others, that insatiable itch, could only be cured after doing so.
I didn't understand it one bit. I hated it. I hated what I was slowly starting to become, something that took me years to realize, to recognize.
Yet at the same time, so hard to stop.
When my little sister was born, I was scared for her to see the person that I had become, the person that I was.
And as she grew older and as that itch grew worse and worse until it burned, I realized I needed to be a better person. But it was difficult, and my thoughts only became more of a train wreck as time went on, and the only solace I had from them, from those thoughts, the thoughts of why am I alive, how did I end up here, why am I here, why do I want to hurt others, why does it feel so good- was to sleep. Sleep and forget.
I haven't had a single dream since being reborn into this life. When I closed my eyes at night and drifted off to sleep, it was nothing but darkness and quiet. Nothing but solace. Sometimes, it made it hard to wake. Though, truthfully, I didn't mind it. Not if it meant disappearing just for a little while, leaving behind everything that scared me.
I couldn't sleep forever.
"Nee-chan. . . Nee-chan!"
The feeling of grubby little hands pushing on my arm slowly roused me from my sleep, the incessant calling of my name filtering through my ears.
I grumbled, turning over onto my side and facing away from the perpetrator.
I heard a huff from behind me, my mind slowly falling back into the blissful abyss. . .
Something tickled the inside of my ear, effectively snapping me awake. My hand swatted away the intrusion, bleary eyes taking in the sight of my sister with strands of my own hair in her small hands, having used the tips of it to put inside my ear.
"Knock it off, Hinami. I hate when you do that," I grumbled.
She pouted, "But i's the only way I can get you ta wake up."
At four going onto five years old, Hinami was the cutest little thing I have ever laid eyes on. She was a quiet and demure kid, taking after our mother in that sense. With wavy black hair and big hazel eyes on a round, chubby face; it was hard to ever be upset at her. Especially when she was an overall good and kind kid.
Didn't change the fact that she could be an absolute little brat sometimes though.
I sat up in my bed, blanket pooling around my waist as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. "That's what I have an alarm clock for, ya'know."
"Yeah, but if you slept more then you can't do my hair for school!"
Like myself, Hinami's birthday was in April (I had an inkling that it had something to do with (new) father's birthday in July), making us the oldest in our classes, as well as putting her in primary already while I'd started middle school. Yesterday had been our first day, and while hers had been uneventful, mine included being set to the faculty office because of a certain rambunctious seatmate of mine.
"Isn't that what mom is for?"
"I want you ta do it!"
I raised my brow at her.
"Please. . ." she added as an afterthought.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll do your stinkin' hair. Let me just use the restroom first."
Hinami followed me into the restroom, practically on my heels. One thing that I definitely had to get used to about having a little sister, and being in Japan as a whole, was having my privacy being taken away. My mom had always been a conservative woman, having raised me the same way, so changing in front of others had always been a difficult task. Growing up with my (new) family and in an entirely new setting had really changed that up for me.
Before I would have refused to even change my shirt in front of other people, now I had taken baths with other people more times than I could even count.
My little sister being included in that. And when it came to having to use the restroom in general, she still followed me in, much to my chagrin.
"Can you braid my hair for me, please," she asked, stepping onto the stool placed in front of the sink so she could reach.
"Mhm."
"And - and - can you put bows in it too! Like how mama does it?"
"Yup."
"Oh - and can you pick out my dress for me too! So it can match my bows? I like it when mama matches my bows to my dresses. I think I wanna wear pink! I like pink! It looks like - um - yeah, it looks like the - the pink beg- bego- begone-"
"Begonias."
"Yeah those! Begone-ass! And I like those a lot! And - and -"
She rambled on like that while I'd finished up my business and washed my hands.
Okay, I take back what I said. Demure she was, but quiet she wasn't. At least not with me.
After I had finished getting her ready and styling her hair for her, I sent her on her way downstairs to join (new) mother so I could get ready myself. Once I was settled into my uniform, teeth brushed and face washed, my own hair pulled up into a simple high ponytail, I went downstairs nearly ready to go.
"Good morning," my (new) mother greeted softly from her spot in front of the stove, stirring something that smelled like cinnamon.
"Morning."
Hinami was munching on a banana from her spot at the dinner table, small legs swinging back and forth.
I stuck my tongue out and made a face at her, which she responded to with a giggle.
Grabbing the bento that (new) mother had prepared for me from the table, I said my goodbyes to them and headed out. While my little sister's primary school was in reasonable walking distance so she wouldn't have to leave for another half hour, my middle school was further out.
I also wanted to get there early to beat the rush and get to my seat without feeling awkward about walking in. I'd never liked drawing attention to myself, and after yesterday, I'd rather not have a bunch of eyes on me again.
My morning walk had been done in silence, my school bag bumping against my hip as I walked. The April air was chilly in the mornings, and the skirt did nothing to help with that and it wasn't the first time that I cursed Japan for their need for females to dress in skirts. Even if it was cute.
As I got closer to the school, the sidewalks began to fill up with students. Some walked alone like myself, some of them walked in groups of two or three, filling the otherwise silent morning with idle chatter and soft laughter.
"Oh! Kubo-san! Is that you?"
I paused midstep, brows furrowed in confusion. Who the-?
I had just crossed an intersection and turned to my right at the sound of my name being called in a voice that was just too loud and excited for so early in the morning. Which means, it could only be one person.
My eyes landed on an energetic blond and his shy companion, blue eyes met dull gold while the other set was firmly set on staring at his feet.
Great.
Not only did I have to deal with him in class, but before class too.
I took a deep breath through my nose, forcing a half smile onto my face.
"Good morning, Togata-san, Tamajiki-san."
Mirio laughed loudly, earning the stares of the people walking by while his companion seemed to hunch in on himself.
"Did you say Tamajiki, Kubo-san?" Mirio guffawed, coming to stand beside me. The other boy lingered a few paces behind.
Ah fuck, I got his name wrong didn't I.
"Yes. . ."
Mirio laughed again, his smile practically taking up his whole face. "It's actually Amajiki Tamaki, but I think Tamajiki is a cute nickname, eh Tamaki?"
Tamaki and I both went red at the comment.
"My apologies, Amajiki-san," I said with a slight bow. "I didn't mean any offense by my blunder."
Mirio went on with yet another laugh, mentioning something or another by me saying the word 'blunder' and formalities, but I was more focused on catching the soft words spoken by the boy I apologized to.
"It's fine, Kubo-san. . . I don't mind. . ."
The loud blond took that moment to clap Tamaki on the back, arm coming to rest over the purple-haired boy's hunched shoulder.
"Neh, neh, can I call you Tamajiki too?"
He said 'no' at the same time that I exclaimed it was an accident.
It didn't deter Mirio one bit. Apparently nothing deters Mirio.
"What about Amaki, instead? That sounds kind of fitting huh?"
I could have sworn the other boy pouted.
Mirio continued to ramble on and on to the otherwise unresponsive middle schooler and I took that as my leave. I didn't get further than a single step after turning back towards the road before the tall blond bounded up to me, pulling Tamaki along with him.
"Say, Kubo-san, I didn't know you took this way to get to school. I didn't see you come this way yesterday."
I had to refrain from sighing.
"We didn't know each other yesterday," I pointed out.
"Hmm, true. But now that we do, why don't you join us in our walks? We can even walk back home part of the way after school too!"
"I don't know. . ."
"Come on, it'll be fun! The three of us are already seatmates, it couldn't hurt to be walk-mates too! It'll be you, me, and Tamajiki over here."
Oh my god, he was never going to let that go.
"It's Tamaki."
"Amaki."
I could only assume that Tamaki pulled a face in lieu of his silence. He was also much more animated than I pegged him out to be, but that might have to do more with his friendship with the loud boy than anything else.
"Hey, hey, Kubo-san, why don't you give me a nickname too?"
I thought about it for a second. If he was going to pester me this whole time and continue to poke fun at the fact that I forgot the other boy's name, then I might as well.
"Toro."
"Eeeh, my name's Mirio, not Miro."
"Did you want a nickname or not?"
"Well why does it have to be Toro," he pouted.
Tamaki mumbled something I couldn't quite make out, but Mirio heard him just fine.
"But I like senaka!"
"Everybody knows that the best part is the fatty part," I piped in.
I would have missed it had I not been looking, but Tamaki seemed to agree with me with a few small nods of his downcast head.
"So Tamaki gets the nickname and you siding with him. That's just unfair."
"Life's unfair," I quipped.
Mirio chortled, a bright grin on his face. "I can tell we're going to be good friends already."
Friends, huh. It'd been a while since I've had friends, a whole lifetime actually. The notion was rather absurd to me. Sure, I did talk to a handful of people in primary school, but that had been far and few between considering my reputation amongst the other kids, the whispers that if they weren't careful, that I would hurt them next.
As much as I didn't mind not having friends, I also craved it in a sort of muted way. I knew I hurt people, knew that sometimes I had an itch for it, but I was also still human. I wanted to laugh too, have fun too.
Maybe I was slightly distant with my (new) parents because of my memories from my past life, but that wasn't the case with Hinami. I loved and cared about her fiercely, from the depths of my heart. And friends were a different type of relation.
I wouldn't mind having friends at all. I wanted it.
Even if they didn't know about my quirk, even if I had lied and said that I didn't have one. It didn't repulse them to think that I was quirkless when I told them. Mirio still took time out of his morning to call me out and talk to me, insisting on walking the rest of the way to school together.
It made me happy.
Until, of course, he got us into trouble again.
Then I was exasperated.
"Togata, Kubo, Amajiki! What have I said about talking in class!"
Once again, Mirio couldn't help himself and just had to make conversation between class rotations. And, once again, it had to be the transition between our third and fourth class, right before lunch, that he didn't notice when the Haise-sensei walked in.
"Sorry, sensei," the three of us apologized, one with a grin, one with a sigh, and one with a mutter.
She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.
"Tell me you three," she said, giving us all a look, "do all of you want to constantly be in trouble or are you going to actually listen to what I have to say."
We obviously did not want to be in trouble.
"Well then, mouths shut and eyes forward."
We did exactly that, the quiet giggles of the class behind us following in our silence. We had made it fifteen minutes into class before-
"Psst, Kubo-san. . . Hey, hey, Kubo-san."
Maybe if I didn't acknowledge him he would stop.
His voice was nearly a whine by now. "Kuboooo-saaaan."
Don't acknowledge him. . . Don't acknowledge.
"Kubo-san-"
"Togata!"
"Sensei!"
"Not another word, Togata. You will come with me to the office during lunch."
The blond practically wilted in his seat and I could only shake my head. This was going to be a very long year.
Thank you to all those who have followed and favorited! Leave a review if you would like; it's not mandatory but it is very much appreciated. I wasn't going to upload this until Thursday, but I have a lot of important essays I need to write for school this upcoming week and next, so I thought I'd update early instead of updating late.
A note on their banter: Momoe keeps messing up Tamaki's name as Tamajiki because she subconsciously recognizes his name as Tamaki from the anime, but the proper way to address him is Amajiki. So she just keeps ending up calling him Tamajiki. With Mirio nicknaming Tamaki "Amaki," it's kind of like a play on words depending on the kanji. In the way that Mirio is using it, he's basically calling Tamaki "sad rain" for his timid and shy disposition. As for the quip on nicknaming Mirio "Toro," it's a combination of To from Togata and Ro from Mirio if you took the I out from between the R and O. And Toro is a type of tuna fish cut for sushi, like fatty tuna. Senaka is also a type of cut from tuna.
If you have any questions or comments, don't be afraid to ask and speak up! I'd love to answer any and all questions, comments, criticisms, etc. . .