Sketchbook Boy- A Tododeku Story

Chapter 30 - To understand?

Todoroki's POV

There are roughly 6500 languages spoken in the modern world.  I speak 5 of them. Japanese alone has 500000 words and 46 characters. In total I have been taught approximately 1512758 words in my 19 years of life. And yet, despite the plethora of words I have available to me, none of them, not one, can define what I'm feeling after being told  exactly what had happened the night before. 

After telling me what happened in as much detail as possible, Tsuyu had left the dorm to go get Izu some food for the next few days, taking the washing up bowl and other blood stained items in a black bag to put in the bins behind the back, leaving me to clean his room for probably the third time since I've met him. And so, I'm left sorting through his wardrobe, putting all of his tracksuits in a pile, and admiring the clothes I assume he used to wear before everything went to shit. 

Whilst looking through his old clothes, I try and imagine Izu in each one - although to begin with its hard to imagine him in ripped jeans and collar jumpers -  which leads to me just daydreaming about a better time with Izu for about half an hour while I mindlessly tidy up his dorm. His wardrobe is surprisingly easy to sort out, mostly because compared to the rest of his room its spotless and I can't help but wish I had done that last for an easy finish. 

My next 'task' I set my eyes upon is once again cleaning the dining table that seems to infinitely fill itself with rubbish. On top of the wooden table is a variety of things, like another bloodied shirt, multiple sketchbooks, a pair of boxing gloves and a load of empty plastic water bottles along with other random shit. I go over to kitchen and grab a bin bag before grabbing all of the empty water bottles, apple cores and empty protein bar wrappers and throwing them in which exhausts me in itself. 

It  takes about an hour to finish clearing out the rubbish and just tidy everything in general. To be honest, it should have taken at least half that but every now and then Izu would stir and I would freeze and you know things happen and I would just stare at him for a while and take note of each and every feature, like the symmetrical freckles dancing on his cheeks which meets at the nose or the scar running from his jaw to to his cheekbone or the slightly crooked nose, probably from it being broken in a fight. More than once I sat on his bed and stroked his beautifully soft hair whilst the feeling of a knife twisting in my heart intensifies with every minute. Honestly, I don't know what's worse, the guilt of what's happened or the dread of what's going to happen. 

Once again, this time after having finished cleaning, I'm running my hands through his hair while dreaming of another reality where we're both happy; where Izu doesn't have to fight every other day just to live, where I don't have to keep up with my father's horrifically high standards. A reality where we can lay in bed in the morning and joke about whatever while I stare into his emerald eyes and listen to his addicting laugh. Just a better, nicer reality. 

Unfortunately, my favourable reality is rudely interrupted by a muffled high pitch ringing from the other side of the room causing me to jump and jerk my hand away from Izu's hair in shock. Instinctively I glance at Izu in fear that he's been forcibly awaken but thankfully he's not bothered by the sound so why should I be? But I am. I'm pissed and I don't even know why. So, morning incoherently, I get up and walk towards the door, where the sound is coming from but I see no phone or alarm that's ringing and despite the initial sound coming from the door its not coming from the direction of the kitchen. roaning, I walk over to the kitchen, but I still can't see anything ringing and now, once again the ringing has moved back to the door. I swear to go, if Izu wasn't here sleeping I would definitely be screaming right now.