Chapter One: "trauma builds character"

Mikumo was a kid with black hair and green highlights with dark gray eyes and constantly tired, with a chronic illness that, while he could walk around and even leave the house from time to time, didn't let him go to school. He didn't have it that bad; his family was well off, and while he had to stay in bed more often than not, at least he could see his friends. Sometimes, he just felt smothered.

His parents wouldn't let him out of their sight, but he wanted to be free from this illness and free from their hands if only for a few seconds. There are times he enjoys their protectiveness when he spirals into how daunting the big, wide world is when he thinks about all his decisions being wrong; then he could just blame it on them.

It wasn't something a good child, a good son would do, but all he ever did was cause problems anyways. He couldn't be a dancer like his mother, and there is no way he'd inherit the family business his father had been given by his grandmother.

No, those two careers fell on the shoulders of his younger siblings, specifically the twins, Yakumo and Yukumo. His parents had an odd obsession with cloud meanings.

Their quirks weren't even cloud-related; his mother could create holographic versions of any quirk she'd seen and even bring them into reality, or at least the aesthetic parts of them, while his father could split his mind into several parts that, while still him, could focus on other tasks.

Yakumo and Yukumo could both manifest a second mind that created holographic manifestations, so a mix of both, they weren't only stuck to quirks like their mother, though.

He, on the other hand, was quirkless, the quirkless nobody in the family one who could only rely on them and become a burden.

At the very least, he wasn't the only one in their family; he had a baby sister, but he was the sick one, the one who couldn't leave and was barely well enough to go out with friends.

He couldn't do anything right, and all he could do was complain about being smothered. And for what reason? Because he was sick? he should be able to ignore this... why couldn't he?

He walked downstairs as quietly as possible and avoided chatter. He saw the twins both smiling and his baby sisters. They had wanted another boy but got her instead, the lingering hesitation they'd felt when she was born had long dissipated.

He knocked on the doorframe as he turned the corner, and his mother looked his way with worried eyes. "Dear?" He looked her in the eyes and smiled, one hand still wrapped around the corner wall, curling deeper into it. He wanted to make a dent to show them, show them he was strong, that he could be strong... But he couldn't.

He walks into his mother's lap. "Mama..." he begins in that childish tone that he knows his mother can't resist. "Can I go with you...?" He asked, already knowing the answer. "Sweetheart, you know that you can't come," her voice was sickeningly sweet.

He fake sniffled and picked at his sleeve. "Can I– Can I see my friends then? While you're away...?" He makes his voice as small as possible, shrinking into himself and burying that feeling of shame and embarrassment as he sees in the corner of his eyes his younger siblings watching curiously, judging. They were never happy that their eldest brother had taken so much attention, even when they were little babies.

Yakumo and Yukumo, despite only turning six a few days ago, are vicious, and the dead, fish eyes always creeped him out.

There was also the fact that they could hide it within seconds, under layers upon layers of masks. His mother finally answered, "Of course but remember to take your baby sister with you." He felt a kiss on the top of his head and he nodded; he just wanted out right now, away from his thoughts. "And keep your location on–" "At all times, I know," he said exasperated. He's a burden already with his illness; there's no nned for him to be any more of a burden than he already is.

He waits and waits as his parents leave, the twins following with them. Yukumo had looked back, the blank look in his eyes replaced with a bright childlike wonder and a smile on his lips. The boy waved, mockingly, as if telling Mikumo that he couldn't come, that he wasn't a part of the family like this, but–

His hands tightened around his baby sister's hand. Sakumo wasn't ill; she wasn't a burden, and she wouldn't be abandoned, not like he would be. He smiled down and sent a quick text to a friend, telling him they'd meet up in an hour or so. "Anything you want to take with you, Saku–chan?" She shakes her head and runs back inside, giggles along the way. Mikumo can't help but smile at his adorable sister as he closes the door.

He sat down on his bed, waiting for the next forty or so minutes to pass before they start walking. It isn't far from where they live; his parents made sure of that. Time passed agonizingly slowly, but it was finally time to go, and as they looked down, he wondered if maybe today would be different.

Sakumo ran into the playground, a bounce in her step. Mikumo, on the other hand, was sure to wave his friends over. "Makoto, Nao!" The two walked over, obviously discussing one thing or another. Mikumo smiled widely at his two friends. "What are you two talking about?" He asks, a tilt to his head. "You know that book we're gonna write one day?" Makoto started, his dark blue hair whipping wildly. "Mhm," Mikumo responded. "Well–!" The blue-haired boy was cut off by Nao throwing her own red hair into his face. "Pfpffft–! Hey!" Nao's quirk let her control and change her hair to any color or texture, while Makoto had a hydrokinesis quirk, but he couldn't do things like pulling it out of the atmosphere or plants or anything like that, though. They've tried.

"You're going to pay for that!" Makoto lunged, and they ended up brawling in the sand. Mikumo took a step back, preferring not to be dragged into this lover's spat because, honestly, that's all he can see this as. Some weird pre-lover's spat—he'd bet money that those two would be married in the future. He watched, growing slightly tired of it the more it went on, rolling his eyes. "So about that book?" He tried to get them on track; they were supposed to be discussing a book here.

Nao's gaze snapped towards him, and she nodded. "Right. I think that we all know which one has to be the villain." Mikumo nodded and took out a sketch pad. He preferred books since the paper for sketchpads would be thrown away, but it was best for what he had planned. Mikumo snapped it open and started sketching. "Shoot," was all he said.

"Right!" Nao began explaining details about the character, with Makoto cutting in. They'd already memorized and written this down, but he didn't really want to keep gazing down then up again and again, as much as he had things memorized that doesn't mean he is impervious to things such as bad memory. Right now, he was sketching the younger version; after that, he'd do the older one. "How tall should he be?" Mikumo blinked because that wasn't something anyone had thought about.

"Probably tall...? More intimidating that way," Makoto shrugged, and Mikumo was reminded of how his parents weren't very tight-lipped about their jobs. But that also meant they could get more of the darker scenes more accurate, so he didn't try to look into it, opting to instead to show the drawing.

"Honestly, not what I was imagining," Nao shrugged. "I don't think we ever saw him as the same person; our minds just don't do that without very careful descriptions," Mikumo looked over, glancing at where his sister was. "It's probably long-winded and boring too..." Makoto's voice took an annoying and whiny tone, one that brought a snicker to both Nao and Mikumo. Then suddenly, they all heard a sound. "Bet'cha Itsuki would—" Makoto interrupted himself at the sound of a loud shriek.

Mikumo ran as soon as he heard it. It was familiar; it was Sakumo, his baby sister. She had started running towards a plastic flower thing he was sure it was supposed to be a clip of some sort.

He tried to go faster as he saw the car driving way too fast and swerving like an idiot. It was obvious the idiot was trying to swerve away, but all they really managed to do was– was... Mikumo stopped. All the chatter stopped. A swell of emotion hit him, and he stared and stared and stared and– oh... she was dead... Whydidthishappen?Whathappened?Whatdidhedowrong?Heshouldhave–

Mikumo was broken, defective, and the only other defective one was dead no matter what he wanted to think no matter how much he didn't want to believe that his baby sister was defective. She was, and he was too.

Everything went in a blur, and before he knew it, he had been sat down with a therapist who wanted to talk to him about what had happened and the memory of his sister without a head. It brought out something in him. His stiff posture loosened up into a deceptively calm stance. He leaned back as if making himself comfortable and let a small amused smile grace his face. "Oh...?"

Mikumo couldn't breathe because that wasn't him. It wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't him! That was someone else but not him. He didn't get control of his body until after the session after everything had been said and done, whatever took over didn't say much they watched and watched and watched he could feel observations leek into his head ones that he usually wouldn't be able to make out let alone understand

"Some quirks can be activated through stress... or some traumatic experience."

He breathed in deeply, too deeply, as something disgusting filled his mouth, and he could only describe it as was dead, dead-like his sister. His fault. Why wasn't he watching? He should have been watching. His fault. Why?

Mikumo didn't respond. He didn't want to. He couldn't, not here, not now, not so soon. He was home and stared into the mirror, into his own eyes, and noticed just how dead they looked, how tired he looked. He just wished they'd stop coddling him.

He hasn't been able to see Makoto or Nao in months now. He hasn't even been able to leave the house. He has a personal therapist that comes to his house every Friday. It's so dull now, but he can't help but think that maybe he deserves this, he deserves it for not taking care of his sister, for letting her die like that.

He took a step back, then another, and then another. He swears that he can see her in the corner of his eye, but he can't. He can never see her ever again, not unless... maybe...

He wouldn't be a burden anymore. He – he wouldn't need to continue in this painful existence. He shakes his head violently, getting all those thoughts out because once he starts, he can't stop spiraling down and down the rabbit hole that is his trauma.

He sits down at a desk that he'd religiously cleaned if only to keep the thoughts away. Four items laid there on the black desk, nothing more, nothing less: a pen, a sharpener, an eraser, and a notebook.

He stared down at the page. He was never one for writing, but he wasn't able to meet with his friend, and he needed an outlet that wasn't telling stories about what he thought their characters would do. It's not like he could talk with them after getting his phone confiscated like he did. At first, he thought he had all his characters sorted out—their roles and the general settings. But he had no plot, nothing to really write about as he simply started.

There had never been a 'main character,' only little scenes with multiple ones involved, but they'd all agreed on that day that there would be one antagonist, and that was Itsuki. Maybe this is his own bias towards Itsuki, maybe it's his want for more anti-heroes, but he's decided that Itsuki is also going to be the protagonist of the story, no matter how horrible he is.

And so he writes and writes and writes, feeling that sense of accomplishment. He completely believes it's the fact that he can write this much in one day, maybe he can finish it. He won't publish it; no, that'd be a disservice to his friends—the ones who helped build this story, who'd also been obsessing over it and helping him round out these characters. They aren't complete; he doesn't even know for sure the main characters likes and dislikes, but he can tell you that he doesn't like anything bitter and has a want for just about anything savory.

A sense of weariness drenches deep into his bone marrow. He looks up at the wall with a yawn, then checks the clock on his wrist, realizing it's way too late. He lays down to sleep, and before he can fully become one with the bed, he feels a tug.

A few minutes later, as he is between dreams and reality, he feels the tug again, but stronger this time. He blinks once, twice, thrice, but no, it doesn't disappear. He looks around and sees a giant lush forest with flowers and bushes. There's a stone path leading up to something like a village, not as big as he'd expect it to be. It looks old-style, and he immediately wonders if he is dreaming.

He tries to make himself float or to think of his room and wake up, but it doesn't work. He can't wake up. He hears the sound of chuckling, he turns around immediately, and stares in utter shock and horror.

Long brown hair falls down to their middle back as two hands, slender and tanned, cross their cheek. Fake brown eyes stare at him as they grin slow and sadistic, a calm yet confident posture showing that they aren't afraid. They will not hesitate.

Feet touch the floor as two dark wings spread out one tail whiling in the ground causing marks similar to claw marks.

Mikumo flinches.