healing hands || tomura shigaraki

when will my life begin - 11

a/n: thank you so much for all the reads, votes, and comments!! thank you for supporting this story!! i love you guys sm <3

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Your mother had returned later that afternoon saying she had been caught up in a bit of trouble. She had proven to be fine, and you were glad she was okay.

But she left again in the early morning hours of the next day while you were sleeping, leaving you with a little note, unlike last time.

It was seven in the morning when you'd decided to wake up. The air was cool as you pulled your hair back before changing your clothes. Your mother had picked up some stuff for you to wear since you hadn't come with any other clothes except for the one's you'd worn when you showed up.

You began to pick up your room, making your bed, and dusting, picking up stray objects from off the floor and placing them back on their shelves, rearranging books, and furniture.

You moved on from your bedroom and started down in the 'living room.' With no tv, you couldn't really call it that. There was an old radio that you doubted worked to any extent, but that was all. You swept the floors and then mopped, making sure that the place was clean, deciding that with all this spare time you could at least make this place look a little nicer.

There was too much dust in the air, but if this was how your mother lived, barely staying home any, you doubted she got around to cleaning much. After about twenty minutes, you took a break and picked up a book.

You were still trying to get your mind off of Shigaraki. He stayed in the back of your thoughts, infecting your mind like some sort of virus. He didn't leave. And no matter how hard, or how long you tried to focus on something else, he never went away.

It was beginning to become a hassle. You were still so worried. Even when you knew you shouldn't be. But with your mother's words, you were honestly scared you never see him again.

Time passed by too quickly as you read and returned to cleaning after. It had become early evening when your mother returned.

Letting her inside, she smiled and gave you a hug.

"Come here my flower." She ushered you into her arms, rubbing the back of your head as she slowly stroked your hair. 

You stood in her arms, slowly bringing your arms around her. Her scent was nice, soothing chamomile with a slight rosy aroma. It was almost hypnotic. 

"You look down, what's wrong dear?" Your mother pulled back and cupped your face in her cold hands.

"I'm just thinking of someone." You admitted, still unsure if it was the right thing to do.

"Tch, darling, they didn't love you." Your mother cooed, her hands fell to yours, holding them tightly.

"The people out there, they want to use you. And they will. You know why I'm keeping you here now."

"I know but-" You were cut off.

"That's right, to keep you safe and sound, my dear the world is awful."

She took a few steps, guiding you in her hands over to a mirror.

"Look at you, young, beautiful, naive." You frowned at her words. Your mother hugged you tight.

"It's such a scary world out there, ruffians, thugs, poison ivy! Cannibals and snakes! The plague!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"But-" You started once again, but your words were cut short again.

"Large bugs and men with pointy teeth! I'm here to protect you, to keep you safe, you know that's why I'm here now." Your mother reassured you, dancing around the small room.