an: I tore through this chapter because I am finally starting to hit my stride when it comes to STUFF STARTING TO HAPPEN. (I know I keep promising this, I feel a little like GRR Martin promising that the dragons are coming and they're going to be EPIC! Whoops!)
I think I got one more chapter of character/relationship building fucked-up fluff left before something ACTUALLY happens and the first Big Shit hits the fan, and I'm EXCITED FOR IT. It's not that I don't love working out the kinks of Dabi and Suzu's early relationship, especially because I think it's super important with regards to what happens later, and their, uh... "feelings" for each other - but the sadomasochist in me really really wants to rush to the extra juicy garbage like, now!
Lot more Dabi next chapter, tho; pwomise.
Back on schedule now, though. Been trying to stick to an update like, once a week. Woo.
004: bury your first love.
Late February; 8 years.
The next morning is just as cold and just as gloomy as the last few weeks. Suzume finds herself aching, aching, aching for sun and warmth and blue skies, dragging her feet in grumpy reluctance as she shuffles out the door with her mother. The sky has a sort of hazy glare to it, the thick, quilted clouds edged with a keen, gray light that's difficult to look at. Suzume's eyes sting a bit when she does. So instead, she turns to look up at her mother, Kozue.
Suzume has always thought her mother has to be the most beautiful person in the whole wide world, and even now, carved out all hard-angled in this awful knife-sharp light, she knows that to be true. It doesn't matter that the winter has left her mother frail and hollowed out. It doesn't matter that her mother's mouth seems tense and drawn, even when she turns to favor Suzume with a smile. It doesn't matter that there are shadows pooling purple and dark under her eyes.
They aren't real bruises, Suzume tells herself, swallowing back something uncomfortable but familiar that rises slowly in her throat. Not like the ones from before.
Not anymore.
No, no – even now, glass-brittle and ghost-gaunt, Suzume's mother is absolutely, positively the loveliest person she has ever seen. Suzume leans into her, wrapping her skinny arms stubbornly around her mother's waist as the older woman finishes locking their shared apartment.
"It's so cold," Suzume grumbles, rubbing her face into Kozue's arm.
"It sure is," her mother agrees, pleasantly. Her mother is always pleasant, a gentle warmth kindled sweet in all of her words.
(Even when Suzume's mother is sad, or tired, or scared – )
Suzume closes her eyes and swallows hard again. "Do I have to go to school? Can't I stay home – can't we both stay home?"
Her mother pockets her keys and brushes both her hands over the crown of Suzume's head, following the spill of her daughter's summery hair. "Are you feeling unwell?"
Suzume considers lying. She's so anxious – anxious about what she knows she's supposed to do today at school, anxious about her secret-brother being wrong, and Katsuki being worse off than before –
(Maybe even anxious about her brother being right – )
And beyond all that, she's anxious for her mother, who despite her generous smiles and easy touches, seems somehow…
Far away.
Yes, Suzume knows she could lie. She knows her mother would believe her, too. That she'd call out to work, that she'd stay home, that she'd make warm rice porridge and put Suzume to bed in her soft, plush futon. Suzume knows that buried underneath the heavy weight of her winter duvet, she'd feel safer – that she could close her eyes in the warm, drowsy dark and save her fear for tomorrow. Pretend that everything was okay. Pretend that she didn't have to do something scary.
She could even pretend that she didn't feel like something scarier than all that combined wasn't looming somewhere just out of sight, claws drawn and teeth bared, ravenous with unknown intentions.
The worst part of that, Suzume thinks, is that she doesn't know what she's frightened of. Not knowing makes it even more terrifying; what can she do to prepare herself? Whatever it is, though, Suzume thinks something has changed, that something foreboding has been creeping in – centimeter by agonizing centimeter – over the last few months.
And Suzume is afraid that it's been taking pieces of her mother back with it.
Kozue is just so much thinner now than she'd been in the summer. Pale and wan, she looks as if she might blow away with the lightest of winter breezes, never to be seen again.
"No," Suzume admits, sullenly. She wants to lie – wants to so badly – but she doesn't want to lie to her mother. Not now, not like this. She knows her mother is worried about money, even if she never says anything to Suzume. She had heard her mother say as much to Izuku's mother a few days back when the other woman had pulled Kozue in for a hug.
Kozue takes Suzume gently by the shoulders and holds her away from herself, looking down into her daughter's pensive face. "Oh, love," she says, and cups Suzume's cheek in the worn palm of her hand. "Is something wrong?"
And Suzume wants to ball her fists up and ask the same thing. Wants to yell it! Scream it! Adults, she thinks, never talk about anything scary or bad, always so preoccupied with being strong. With appearing strong. And while Suzume knows her mother is strong in her own way –
She also knows that her mother seems to be falling apart.
It's nothing Suzume wants to add to. "No," she says, thinking it's fine to lie about this. Less selfish. Self-sacrificing. All things her mother has taught her. "I'm okay."
For a moment, Suzume's mother just studies her, and Suzume finds that she's holding her breath. There's a fear in her that her mother will know she's lying – after all, doesn't her brother always tell her so?
But then the moment passes, and her mother is smiling again, and the smile is so cloying, Suzume thinks it almost looks sad. "I'm relieved to hear it," she says, softly.
And Suzume wishes she were as bold as her brother – wishes she could tell her mother what a terrible, no-good liar she is.
Wishes she could beg her mother for the truth in the same breath.
Instead, Suzume takes her mother's outstretched hand, and they begin the walk to school, together.
Lies, Suzume thinks, sullenly, aren't always things one has to say aloud.
(The worst lies might very well be the ones no one ever says at all.)
Walking to school with Kozue isn't something Suzume gets to do very often. Her mother works three part-time jobs to afford both their small apartment and what Suzume distantly understands to be her legal counsel, and they take up much of her time.
Instead, Suzume normally walks with Izuku. He and his mother live in the same complex as Suzume and her mother, and it's common for Suzume to spend the mornings in the Midoriyas' apartment, sharing breakfast together with them.
Both Izuku and his mother are impossibly kind, and Suzume enjoys spending time with them. Inko reminds her a lot of her own mother: sweet to a fault and impossibly optimistic. They both strike Suzume as the perfect image of motherhood.
In a way, getting to share Izuku's mother with him makes Suzume feel a little better about missing out on so much time with her own –
And yet, it somehow also makes her feel a lot worse.
So Suzume endeavors to make the best of this rare gift, even if she finds herself feeling a little sad and a lot anxious.
There are things she feels she can't ask Izuku's mom, after all. Things like:
"Mama, how do you – how do you get someone to like you? Like… like-you-like-you?"
The two of them stop together at a crosswalk, and Kozue takes the opportunity to look down at her daughter with raised eyebrows.
"Oh," Kozue breathes the word out in surprise, and Suzume thinks her mother sounds a little delighted. "Do you have a crush on someone, Suzu?"
"No," Suzume says, too quickly. And then, very sheepishly: "Well… maybe."
Her mother laughs, and Suzume thinks it sounds more genuine than it has in a long time. "Oh, my sweet girl – it feels like you were just so small and tiny only months ago, and look at you, getting so big with your first crush – "
Suzume pulls a face. Her brother isn't her first crush – not exactly.
(But she doesn't want to think about that.)
And she especially doesn't want her mother to think she's a baby, either. "I'm almost nine! I haven't been small in years!"
There's a crinkling in the corner of her mother's eyes when she laughs again, like the delicate tissue paper of an extravagant, beautiful gift. It makes Suzume feel a little lighter.
"You'll always be little to me, my love," her mother says, smiling. It's a sentiment she expresses often, one Suzume finds she loves and loathes in equal measure. Her mother's affection is always so comforting – she just doesn't want to be small! "But oh, please – you should tell me about him! Maybe I can help?"
Suzume scrunches her face up, thinking. She knows she has to be careful; her mother seems excited, but she knows she'll be excited in the wrong ways if she's able to piece together how much older her not-so-new-anymore big brother is.
"He's very nice," Suzume says, slowly. "He helps me out with things that are hard. He listens to me when I'm upset about stuff, even when it's… probably kinda dumb? Sometimes he teases me about it, like – about it being dumb, but not really in a way that makes me feel bad?" She can feel her cheeks beginning to warm, and her fingers tighten reflexively around her mother's own. When she speaks again, it's in a whisper: "And since it was really cold, he even let me use his jacket."
"Goodness, what a gentleman!" Kozue looks both impressed and slightly taken aback. "It's been so long since I was your age, but I don't remember any of the boys being so charming! He must be very popular!"
That comment gives Suzume immediate pause; it's nothing she's even remotely considered before, and it fills her with a sudden, awful feeling of dread.
What if someone else likes her older brother?
What if he likes them back?
Worse still, what if he likes them back in ways that aren't the way an older brother likes his little sister?
(She doesn't even know his name – )
Suzume makes a strangled noise in her throat, halfway between a squeak and a wail. To her credit, Kozue seems to know what she's done almost immediately.
"Oh, love, love – please don't fret! I just meant – he sounds like a lovely boy, like he's very kind to you! Clearly you mean something to him! It makes sense that someone so good would be well-liked, but it sounds like – oh, even so, it sounds like you're special! And why wouldn't you be?" Her mother takes Suzume's face in her hands, her thumbs rubbing soft, soothing circles into her daughter's cheeks. "Of course he'd see how special you are! How could he not?"
"You're only saying that 'cause you're my mom'n you hafta," Suzume mumbles, lower lip puffed out in a trembling pout. "I don't think he likes me like that, Mama… I wore a skirt the other day and it was real cute and I know it was cute cause Katsuki's mom said it was and she's real pretty and always dresses so nice, but he – he just told me I was dumb 'cause it was too cold and that's why he gave me his jacket. Maybe he just gave it to me 'cause he felt bad I was dumb for wearing a skirt –"
The light at the crosswalk changes, and Kozue steps forward into the street, gently guiding her daughter after her. "Ahh, that's more like what I remember boys being like when I was a little girl," Kozue says, knowingly, and Suzume has the sinking suspicion that her mother is trying very hard not to laugh.
"But he's not like that!" Suzume argues, shaking her head emphatically. She knows she has to be careful, but at the same time, she can't let her mother think her super cool older brother is anything at all like the gross boys she goes to school with. To do so, Suzume thinks, would be some grave affront to his honor – an honor she finds herself desperate to defend.
"Because it – it was dumb! I was cold! I was really super cold! My leggings weren't warm enough! And Katsuki-kun calls me dumb for things I'm not being dumb about, and it's different, and Katsuki-kun is mean and dumb and bad, and I just – I just…"
"I understand," her mother says knowingly, now with a respectful seriousness that has the tension in Suzume's shoulders relenting, if only just a little. "You wanted him to say your skirt was cute, and it made you sad that he didn't. I can see why that would sting. But even so, you still like him – and since he's so kind to you, I promise I won't judge him too harshly. He sounds like a very nice boy, and I'm very thankful he's looking out for you." Her mother adjusts the scarf situated around Suzume's shoulders, tucking it a little tighter around her chin. "And really, it has been so cold – so I'm glad he can help counsel you to keep warm. Heavens know you don't like listening to me about that!"
Kozue punctuates the statement with another good-natured laugh, and Suzume can't help but roll her eyes, cheeks puffing out in a sharp exhalation of breath. "Yeah, but – I know it's good. I know he's good! That's why – that's why I like him, Mama, 'cause – 'cause I wouldn't like him if he was only bad or annoying." Suzume rubs at her cheek with her free hand, her earlier flush deepening. It's surreal to be saying these things out loud, she thinks – things she's been feeling so intensely these last few months, unable and unwilling to tell anyone. "But that's why – that's why I wanna know how I can get him to like me back."
Up ahead and down the street, Suzume's elementary school looms behind its brick walls like a many-eyed beast, coming up too fast. She knows she only has a few more minutes left with her mother – not nearly as long enough as she needs.
"I think you should just keep being yourself," her mother says cheerfully, and that has Suzume throwing her head back and near-howling at the sky in exasperation.
"That's not real advice!"
"Of course it is!" Her mother gives Suzume's hand a gentle squeeze. "Would he be giving you his jacket if he didn't like you? Would he be helping you out, or going out of his way to be nice to you? Doesn't it stand to reason that if you keep doing what you're doing, he's going to like you more?"
Suzume doesn't answer, only huffs a little dramatically. Kozue chuckles, and continues, "You didn't like him as much as you do now when you first met, did you? But he was himself, and you liked that about him, and now you like him a lot. A lot more than you did. Why can't you do the same thing?"
"Because I worry he likes me like – " Suzume's mouth closes down around the words 'little sister'. She crinkles her nose, feeling anguish well up in her chest. "Like – like just a friend. I don't want him to like me as a better just-a-friend. I him to like me back in the other way."
"Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't." Her mother sounds very wise, but it isn't the sort of wisdom Suzume wants. "But friends are good, too, aren't they? Would that be so bad?"
"Yes," Suzume says, dire-serious. "Very yes." And then, to further illustrate her feelings: "I think I'd rather be dead."
Kozue is clearly trying to keep back her laughter again, and it takes everything in Suzume to not stomp her feet in righteous indignation – though she finds the image of her older brother calling her a baby for getting so worked up over it does most of the work.
"I'm being serious!" She manages through gritted teeth, and feels very grown up about it.
"Oh, my love – I know, I know," her mother soothes, lifting her daughter's hand and kissing the backs of her knuckles. "But really – and I'm so sorry to say this – but the only thing to do is to keep being yourself and leave it up to fate. If it's meant to happen, it will!"
This is something Suzume has suspected herself, but it's no comfort to hear it confirmed. She'd wanted her mother to reveal some secret, some play that might guarantee that her incredibly handsome older brother would see her as something more than what she knows she is:
Just a silly little girl.
Just a little sister.
"I wanna be pretty like you," Suzume whispers, tears blurring her vision suddenly. They're near enough to the school now that there are more and more students about, and Suzume plants her feet, not wanting to get too close to the gates. Not wanting to be overheard. "I wanna be older, and cooler, and elegant, and put-together."
Suzume's mother settles down on her heels then, and gathers up both of her daughter's hands in her own. "Oh, Suzume – " Kozue is also whispering, and Suzume thinks her eyes look a little watery, too. "My girl – my good, sweet girl – you are beautiful. You are so very pretty. But please don't be in such a rush to grow up. I know right now you can't wait to race off to the end, and I know it all seems so bright there, and it feels so dark and gloomy here, but…"
Her mother's hands lift and cup her cheeks again, pulling Suzume in to press a kiss to her forehead. "I have so little time with you already. Let me have you like this, even if just a little longer. It's okay to be a little girl; you'll only get to be one once, after all. Please, please – be kind to yourself."
And Suzume thinks she should want to argue – she thinks she should be annoyed. But her mother looks at once both so happy and so sad, and Suzume finds she feels neither combative or angry. Instead, she surges forward, wrapping her arms around her mother's shoulders.
Her mother just feels so frail.
"I'm sorry, Mama," she says, so earnest, into her mother's hair. Even in the poor light, it gleams like golden fire.
"You know I love you," her mother whispers, gathering her daughter up into her thin arms. "You know I love you more than anything in the world."
And Suzume knows that to be true – because how much has her mother suffered on her behalf?
So much, Suzume thinks, and the thought is a dagger in her chest – so much, so much, so much.
The school day starts as it always does: Suzume shuffles into the classroom in her school slippers, wishing she'd worn warmer socks, and spills messily into her seat behind Izuku.
"Hey Suzu-chan!" He twists around in his seat to greet her, and his smile is as warm as it always is. His nose, though, is red and raw, and he snuffles, messy and wet. Somehow, though, even with his cold, his disposition is unfailingly sunny. Suzume can count on one hand the number of times she's actually seen him upset.
Sometimes, she wonders how he does it.
Suzume offers him a thin smile and a crumpled, quarter-full package of cartoon-branded tissues she fishes out of her coat pocket. She thinks the perky cat on the front might suit Izuku more than it does herself. The lump in her throat feels so thick now that she's worried she might choke on it somehow.
"Oh, thanks!" Izuku looks pleased as he accepts both, pulling a tissue from the crumpled plastic and grinding it absently against his runny nose. "Hey, though – are you – are you doing okay? You look a little, uhh – "
"M'just cold," Suzume cuts him off neatly, forcing another smile. It's not exactly a lie. "My toes are really, really freezing."
Izuku nods in understanding, and for a moment Suzume thinks she's earned a reprieve.
But of course not. Instead, Izuku asks, "How was – um, how was last night?"
Suzume can't help but roll her eyes. "Exactly like you'd think it'd be."
Izuku knows the way Suzume feels about Katsuki. She's told him as much in excruciatingly explicit detail, and a few weeks back she'd all but sworn off going to Katsuki's house after school all together.
Suzume also knows that Izuku struggles a lot with this information. It's something she finds she feels a little bad about. Izuku is so nice, she thinks, almost to a fault. He still considers Katsuki a friend for reasons Suzume cannot begin to understand – especially so when Katsuki treats him just as poorly as he treats her.
Somehow, though, it's as if hearing bad things about Katsuki – justified though they might be – hurts Izuku worse than anything Katsuki can do on his own. She can see it in the way Izuku flinches a bit at the implication behind her otherwise reserved confession.
So she's quick to follow it up with a benevolent, "Don't worry about it."
She means it – mostly. There is of course some not-so-small part of her that wants Izuku to agree: Katsuki is b-a-d with a capital B.
Because he really is. B-A-D. It's why she'd taken the bet with her brother, after all.
No, it doesn't matter how right her brother seems to be about everything – Suzume is almost certain he's wrong about this. He'd compared Katsuki to himself, but Suzume doesn't think Katsuki is at all like her brother. Sure, they both are the sort who seem to revel in pushing her buttons, but there's not a shred of kindness to Katsuki. There's nothing remotely nice about him, and frankly, Suzume has been convinced he's hated her for months now.
By contrast, she's fairly certain her cool new-but-not-as-new older brother does like her – even if only as a little sister.
A blessing and a curse both, she thinks.
(But even a partial blessing is something.)
Before Izuku can respond, both he and Suzume catch sight of Katsuki swaggering into the classroom. Izuku's lips quirk upwards in that sheepish kind of smile Suzume knows so well before he turns from her to wave at Katsuki from across the room, calling out, "Kacchan!"
Now that Izuku isn't looking at her, Suzume feels entirely within her right to roll her eyes again. Katsuki's own expression is similarly sour, but she doesn't reward him with her attention for long, busying herself instead with arranging her collection of cute pens and pencils in order from least to most favorite on her desk.
Stupid choice, that, she realizes far too late. Katsuki walks right past his seat in front of Izuku, not even looking at the other boy as he grabs a handful of Izuku's hair and pushes him, cheek down, into his desk. Izuku makes a startled half-squeak of a sound, but to Suzume's immense chagrin, does not offer any further hint of resistance.
(Izuku never stands up for himself when it comes to Katsuki; of course he wouldn't start now.)
"What're you dumb nerds talking about, huh?" Before Suzume can even react, Katsuki has filched her favorite pencil with the hand that doesn't have Izuku pinned to his desk. He twirls it between his fingers in a way Suzume expects he thinks must look impressive or cool. When she looks up at him, the smug holier-than-thou grin he has her fixed with all but confirms it.
Suzume is, of course, not impressed. She most certainly does not think he's cool. Hissing her displeasure, she's quick to reach out in an attempt to snatch it back, but Katsuki is quicker, jerking his arm up and over his head, far out of her reach. "Nuh-uh. Not so fast. I asked you a question, Suzu."
She thinks she should answer him by kicking him hard in the shins. "Give it back," she says in what she hopes is a properly threatening tone, heavy with the intent of wanting to kick him in the shins.
Whether she manages or not, though, it doesn't matter; Katsuki only sneers at her, red eyes narrowed and needling. "Nah," he says slowly, self-satisfaction dripping from the word. "I don't think I will."
With the point of it caught up between two fingers, he flicks the back end of the pencil against her cheek. It's not a hard hit, more of a tap, really, and it doesn't really hurt – but it does sting a little. Regardless, Suzume refuses to flinch, and something about that has the corners of Katsuki's mouth wavering just a bit between a smirk and what Suzume thinks might be a frown.
It takes everything in her not to snap back, not to lunge at him like she usually might. She tries to imagine what her brother would do – imagines him tall, and calm, a spill of dark hair across his half-lidded eyes, no tension to his mouth. She can hear his voice, languid and dispassionate in a way that always leaves her aching so much for anything he's willing to give her –
Any reaction of his, she's learned, is rare and special.
Be cold, he'd told her.
(Like her brother can be.)
So, she is.
"Whatever," she says, trying very hard to keep her natural inclination for flippancy from creeping into her tone. From the brief look of confusion that flickers across Katsuki's face, she thinks it might just be working.
The confusion is gone quickly, though – as is Katsuki's offensive grin. His mouth now is a discontented grimace. "Good, 'cause it turns out I forgot my pencil, anyway, so I'm actually gonna keep this one," he says, pushing the pencil behind his ear.
And for all his usual bravado, Suzume thinks he might just sound a little unsure.
Just maybe.
She takes in a deep breath, inwardly steels herself, and shrugs. "Fine."
It is actually absolutely not fine. She wants her pencil back, and inwardly she roils with the outrage of it. This isn't in her nature. But she tries hard to play the part of her brother, cool and unfazed.
Tries hard to affect his infuriating nonchalance.
Katsuki's expression doesn't change, but he also doesn't do anything, either. He simply stares at her, brows drawn, mouth a hard, stiff line.
Beneath the slackening grip of his hand, Izuku wriggles free, casting a curious, raised-eyebrow glance over his shoulder at Suzume.
"Well," Katsuki says, finally, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well, good."
When he turns to slink back to his desk, all the hot air seemingly let out of him, Suzume leans forward a bit, arms folded neatly over her desk. "Hey, Katsuki."
Everything in Katsuki's body goes rigid with an immediate tension. Suzume can guess why – it's the first time she's used his name in months.
It's also the very first time she's addressed him with only his name, dropping the erstwhile affectionate suffix she'd used to attach to his name.
Katsuki.
Just Katsuki
"What?" Just-Katsuki doesn't turn to look at her, and she thinks his voice sounds a little funny.
"Wait for me after school, please. By the big tree at the west gate." It's a statement, not a request, delivered with careful indifference. "I wanna talk to you about something."
"Tch." It's Katsuki's turn to shrug, and he still doesn't bother looking back at her as he folds into his seat.
Heart thrumming in her chest, Suzume ducks Izuku's cautiously inquisitive gaze and picks up her second favorite pencil, forcing herself to breathe slow and steady through her nose. She feels – she feels so much. Manic, electric with it, but also panicked, and out-of-place.
This isn't me, she thinks. And yet, has she ever had any kind of an upper hand when playing as herself before?
In her peripheral vision, she watches her classmates file into the classroom and fill their assigned seats. Eventually, Izuku turns to face forward, blowing his nose quietly against a freshly retrieved tissue.
Over his bent form, she can see the back of Katsuki's head – can see that he's pulled her pencil from behind his ear.
She can see that he's holding it in his hand, rotating it slowly between his fingers.
Suzume feels a little sick, and finds herself hoping desperately that her brother is wrong.
The tree by the west gate is the biggest on the grounds, its gangled, gnarled branches long emptied out of its leaves for the winter. Suzume waits under it, arms wrapped up around herself. Even in her heavy coat – and much heavier leggings – the wind seems to rake right through her, as if desperate to make a home in her bones.
She'd told Izuku at lunch to tell his mother not to expect her after school. "Going home with Kaachan?" He'd asked her. She'd pretended, selfishly, not to hear the hopeful intonation in his voice.
"Maybe."
Again, it wasn't really a lie.
Students drift past her, spilling thick through the doors of the school and out into the courtyard. From there, they splinter off from the surging mass into smaller groups before venturing out past the gates. A few of them offer her smiles and waves as they pass her by. She even earns herself a few good-natured goodbyes.
Suzume really only has the energy to give them small smiles in return.
As the crowds thin, she begins to wonder if Katsuki will even show. She'd noticed him lingering in his chair when their last class had been released. That had been curious; she knows he doesn't have any clubs today.
(After taking weeks to even work up the nerve, she'd been extra mindful of that.)
But eventually – when it seems as if almost everyone else is gone – she sees Katsuki round the corner of the school, hands buried deep in the pockets of his pants.
Katsuki has always walked with what can only be described as a saunter, shoulders rounded forward, slouching in a way Suzume has always read as half aggressive, half irreverent.
(All-threatening.)
But as he trudges sluggishly across the grounds, his figure a stark, lone shape against the backdrop of the dark brickwork of the school, Suzume thinks he looks rather small.
(Her throat, she realizes, suddenly hurts so much worse.)
She doesn't say anything as he comes to stand in front of her, maybe a meter away. It's the first time she can remember him not immediately pushing himself into her space. It's the first time she can remember him not immediately pushing at her in general, pushing at her physically, emotionally, pushing at her in any and every way he can.
For a while, they simply stare at each other. The wind ruffles in Suzume's hair, and she's painfully aware of the way he watches her lift her hand and tuck a few errant strands behind her ear.
"So," he says, finally. "You gonna tell me why you're botherin' me?"
Suzume thinks he's trying to sound exasperated, but his usual bravado seems somehow off-key. She wonders if he's the sort who can feel things, too – feel it when something seems like it's changing, when something seems like it's breaking, like spider-cracks lacing their way through ice already worn too thin.
"I want you to – " Suzume pauses to take a breath, to swallow, to close her eyes. She's been thinking about this all day, practicing the words in her head. Be cold, she tells herself. Be serious. Isn't that what her brother had said? "I want you to… please leave me alone."
"Oh," Katsuki says, and something in his face shifts. She's not sure what. Relief? "That's it?"
If Suzume gives herself an opportunity, she knows she will crumble.
So, she lets it all out of her, blood from an old, old wound:
"No. Not just that. Because I – I mean it. I don't want you to bother me anymore. I don't want you to – " Her voice is so even, and it sounds foreign even in her own ears. A stranger's voice. Her brother's voice, her brother's words. They simmer hot on her tongue, like coals, but she breathes them out like a cold January wind. "I don't want you to talk to me anymore."
Katsuki's eyes widen, if only a little. Just a little. It makes her feel sick.
She expects him to argue with her. She expects him to surge forward, to put his hands on her shoulders, and push her to the ground. She expects him to yell.
She remembers her father doing so, to her mother. Pushing. Yelling. How dare you?
How dare you?
(He likes you, her brother had said. She hadn't really believed him. Katsuki hated her, didn't he? Hated her, hated her, hated her.)
But Katsuki doesn't push her. He doesn't yell. He only looks at her, a little boy only a few centimeters taller than her, a little boy in his too-big coat, trembling hands pushed rough-boy tough in his pockets.
"Why?" He's quieter than she's ever heard him before, and she remembers the first time she'd met him, almost a year and a half ago. It had been over summer break, and in the same park he'd later chase her up a tree in, his mother had called her over, asked why she was alone, and introduced Suzume to her son.
Katsuki had been the first person Suzume had met since the move. The first person her age she'd really ever had a chance to speak to. She'd been so excited. "Please," she'd said, almost pleadingly, "Let's be friends, Katsuki-kun."
His face had been nearly as red as his eyes, then.
Suzume's hands fall away from her arms, balling up into fists at her side. Her brother had told her not to cry, but she feels her eyes burning, burning, burning, burning so, so hot. "Because – " Her voice is trembling, despite herself. She'd only wanted to be friends. She'd just wanted to be friends! "Because you make me so sad! Because you won't leave me alone!"
And that's the truth, and the words break and crack in her mouth.
"Because you're mean," she's babbling now, shoulders shaking. "Because you're terrible. Because everything is so hard already, and you only make it worse!"
And that's true, too, though maybe less so. Maybe.
Maybe.
Katsuki reaches out, tries to take hold of her shoulder. She can't make out his expression through her tears. "Suzu – "
Suzume jerks away from him, wild. Undone.
Lie, her brother had said. Lie.
Lie, lie, lie.
"And because –" Her breath hitches with an ugly sob. "Because I hate you!"
And that, she knows, is absolutely a lie. She doesn't hate Katsuki – not really. She just wants him to be nicer, sometimes. Just sometimes.
Just a little bit.
Katsuki doesn't say anything. He doesn't try to touch her. His face is a blur through her tears, indistinct, like an imprint of someone from a dream she can't quite remember. Things change, she thinks; things change, and sometimes they change for the worse.
Katsuki pulls his other hand from his pocket. She can tell because she can hear the rustle of the fabric of his coat. And then she feels him take one of her hands, and press something into it.
"Sorry," he says, and it sounds like he means it, and it lances right through her.
Her brother was right, she thinks. Because of course he was.
Of course he would be.
Katsuki drops her hand, mumbles it again, barely a whisper. "Sorry."
And she wants to say: it's okay.
And she wants to say: it's all right. Just be better. Just be nicer. Just sometimes. Just a little bit.
She can tell she's hurt him.
Please, she thinks, please, please, please. It doesn't have to be this way, right? It doesn't have to be.
And she thinks, maybe she can make it better. Maybe she can make it right. If her brother is right – if he actually does care – then can't she fix it? Can't she make things better?
But then Katsuki is gone, and it is that way.
It is.
Suzume rubs her free hand across her eyes, sobs still quaking their way through her. The thing in her hand is long and thin, and she knows what it is even before she manages to clear her vision enough to see.
Her pencil, freshly sharpened to a neat, fine point.
A peace offering.
(Another dagger, pushed deep between her ribs.)
Suzume isn't expecting anything when she wanders alone into the park some twenty minutes later, face raw and aching from her tears and the cold. Even though it's already dark, it's still a few hours too early.
She's never been in the park this early.
Even so, the park seems entirely empty as she makes her way through it to the emptier swings. She imagines her classmates, and what they must be doing now – imagines Izuku and even Katsuki at home, doing homework, washing hands, preparing for dinner.
She imagines her own apartment, dark and vacant – empty of her mother. Empty of her.
Her mother won't be home until after 11:00, she knows, settling herself into a creaking, chilly swing. Her toes only just barely touch the ground, and only when she strains.
It makes her feel like crying again.
Suzume hears the rattling of the swing's chains before she feels them. The motion is subtle, twisting only slightly in her clenched hands. She tilts her head back, and looks up, and up, and up –
Into her brother's face.
"Hey, Suzu," he says, like he always does, and his eyes beneath his black bangs are so blue, so blue and so bright that she wonders if they aren't lit by the same fire inside him that burns hot enough to ruin even him.
When she blinks, once, twice – he's still there. Not a dream. Not some desperate hallucination.
"Why?" She asks him. Like Katsuki had asked her, not thirty minutes ago.
Her brother shrugs, his expression unreadable. "Figured you might need me."
Suzume doesn't know what she feels, but whatever it is, she finds herself completely overwhelmed by it. The sobs she'd only just managed to get under control spill out of her anew, ugly and hysterical.
It's true, she knows. It's true – she does. She does. She needs him so badly. So much.
(How does he know?)
"You were right," she cries, choking on the words. She stops looking at him, then – looks at the ground instead. Looks, but can't see anything, not through the storm of fresh tears. "You were right and I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!"
"I know," he says, and he says it softly, circling the swing until he's a blurry-dark form standing in front of her, until he's kneeling down before her, brushing her hair back from her face where it clings sticky to her salt-wet cheeks.
His fingers are long, and thin, and hot against her skin. His face is only centimeters from hers, and she can feel his breath fanning over her when he speaks again. "Come here."
Suzume obliges him because she needs that, too, falling from the swing into his now outstretched arms, her own tangling quick around his shoulders. She buries her face against the side of his neck, weeping openly into his skin. He smells distantly of soap, and stronger of smoke, and is so, so warm as he wraps his arms around her.
It's guilt, she thinks; that's what she feels. Self-loathing. Fear.
But as he starts to shush her softly, one arm caught up around her waist and the other buried in her hair, she feels something else, too.
"Shhhh – I know it was hard." His voice is somewhere near her ear, and she can feel the heat of him there, too, prickling at her skin and stirring in her hair.
And then she can feel him shifting against her, the arm he has around her waist drifting down, catching her just under her knees, and he lifts her up, and up, and up as he stands, himself.
"I couldn't do it cold, like you said," Suzume manages to choke out. His neck is wet with her tears now, too. "I couldn't keep from crying – I couldn't, I couldn't – it shouldn't have worked, it shouldn't have, it was messy and stupid, and I messed it up, I messed it up…"
"Suzu," he says, and her name on his tongue sounds tender in a way she's never heard him be before. "Oh, Suzu – you're such a good girl, aren't you? So soft, too soft. You're hopeless."
She can only manage to shake her head clumsy in response, small shoulders shaking still with her quieting sobs. She doesn't want to be hopeless.
She doesn't – she doesn't!
As if he can read her thoughts, he laughs – and that's quiet, and tender, too. "It's okay," he whispers, and she thinks, maybe, that she can feel him press a kiss to the side of her head, somewhere in her hair. "Shh – it's okay."
(Guilt, self-loathing, fear.)
And then, even more quietly, he tells her: "I like you like that, remember?"
Guilt, self-loathing, and fear – but now she feels the other thing more than all of them combined.
"And since you're so hopeless," he says, and she thinks he kisses her again, "I'll always be here to look out for you."
(Relief, she thinks. It's relief.)
Suddenly, she feels so tired she can barely speak, so tired she can barely keep her eyes open. In her mouth, her tongue feels thick and clumsy. "Promise?"
And against her cheek, where he's pressing his face now, she's absolutely certain she can feel him smile.
"Promise."
