𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 - ʙɴʜᴀ

Chapter 13

             The Date - Age Sixteen

I lay against my mattress, the sheets still under my back as I stare up through the ceiling. An apathetic dance of moonlight shines through my window, coating darkness with a seemingly unending chill of hopelessness.

I don't cry... not anymore. Letting tears fall from my eyes won't change anything, it won't stop the torture in my heart, nor bring back what I grieve for.

But that night, as stars litter the sky above me, each one watching with intent as... for the first time, I wish nothing less than to face Touya in my dreams...

And I cried. Sobbing until my eyes burned sore and dreary, clutched at my own chest as though it might alleviate some of the pain. It didn't and I know it never will.

Feeling sorrowful for bad things that have happened... it doesn't make anything better.

But what else can I do?

— 20 Hours Later —

I'm in no mood to engage in a 'date' with Katsuki. I'm not in any mood to do anything but sit inside the four walls of my apartment in silence, emptily staring at a wall until night falls again.

I'm aware that my grief isn't productive, I'm aware that nothing changes with the way I might feel about something, I'm aware that I shouldn't have done a lot of things. I'm also aware that the time I have to stall this 'date' is growing shorter with each second that I lay in my empty bathtub, smacking the back of my head against the porcelain.

So, given there's nothing to do but suck it up and let it happen... I opt to at least try making something of myself. It won't be pretty, nor will it be worth much... but I suppose anything more than what I am now is an improvement.

My brows furrow as I teleport myself out of the bathtub, mentally deciding that I'm not leaving this apartment tonight- and neither is he. The lucky twist to this entirely unlucky situation that I dug myself into- is that it's a 'not dinner date'. Meaning, thankfully, I don't have to face anything outside this shitty accommodation.

I violently rub the back of my hand against my nose, sniffing up harshly as I drag my eyes around the kitchen. I have one mirror in the whole place, it's in the bathroom. But I don't need to see my reflection to know I look like shit.

Hesitantly, I glance down. A tear stained jumper, stains all over my stripy blue pyjama pants. I debate just staying like this, letting my obvious lack of self care speak for itself and send him running. A sigh passes my lips as I ultimately decide against it.

I won't deny that not every inch of me wants him to run... I'm not in love with him, I doubt I even like him. I just got too caught up in trying to please everyone, like I always do, and made awful decisions...

I'll never learn the lesson I know the universe must be trying to teach me. It's not in my nature to learn, all I know is pleasing. That look of approval... that's all I want to know. I don't care for meaningless praise... I want true, genuine... acceptance.

Despite everything I've done, regardless of how off putting, how disgusting, or nasty, or selfish, shameless, pathetic, or utterly hopeless I am...

Acceptance that despite all of it... someone might still love me.

I swallow thickly, running a hand down my pyjamas as my quirk stunts on, switching my sweat-filled sleeping clothes for something more appropriate. I don't know what looks good, what suits me or makes me look like shit. No one compliments the way I look anyway, so it's not like I can figure it out based on reactions.