Something Different

3: Trust In Me

[1537 words]

Inko hummed thoughtfully as she watched her son bite into a piece of cut mango attached to his fork. He crooned in delight, his eyes glued to his phone like a lifeline. His thumb touched the screen, scrolling up. She smiled slightly.

Izuku had been acting weird, ever since he had a nightmare five months ago—a rather frightening one, judging by his reaction. Inko didn't want to pry into her son’s privacy, but his sudden behaviour change was quite worrying. Just the other night, Izuku had offered to cook dinner, despite, if Inko’s memory did not fail her, not knowing how. However, to her surprise, Izuku whipped up a meal that was—in lack of a better term—okay. For a moment, Inko had suspected that Izuku had been taking special lessons in school, but discarded the theory when she checked his schedule; it didn't have anything related to pastries.

In addition to this, Izuku gained a burst of confidence. Usually, even when he spoke to her, Izuku would have a terrible stutter, and Inko would need to strain her senses to decipher his jagged words. But ever since that nightmare, Izuku’s vocabulary had abruptly broadened, and his speech was more clear and concise—almost like a gentleman’s. Furthermore, instead of a hunched back, fidgeting fingers, constantly darting eyes, as well as stiff and jittery posture, who appears to be Izuku wasa more leisure. When sitting on the couch, one of his legs would be crossing over the other, and he would be whistling a light tune as he scrolled through his phone. His shoulders would be more relaxed, his eyes holding a subtle but piercing fire.

Not to mention that his handwriting had changed as well; instead of its bubbly and easily readable structure, it was similar to cursive and looked more like calligraphy. It was an abrupt change—that much Inko was aware of. She went through his notebooks when he was asleep, and found that his handwriting had changed mid-way through a page. She wouldn’t be a responsible parent if she didn't notice all the red flags waving obviously in front of her face, and act on them.

“Izuku,” Inko addressed sternly, which immediately garnered Izuku’s attention. He gently set his phone onto the table, its screen facing down—too proper—and faced Inko with utmost attentiveness. His back straightened, and his eyes sharpened. He put his elbows on the table and intertwined his fingers.

“Yes, Mom?” He replied politely, a small—wary, concerned—smile on his face. His eyes softened, for a moment, and he stared at Inko with the most angelic pair of shimmering emerald eyes. Those eyes almost made Inko write off her worries as paranoia. Almost.

“I’ve noticed your behaviour lately…” Inko gulped. If she was mistaken about this, it could very well damage her and Izuku’s relationship. She hesitated, but ended up blurting out: “I want you to tell me what’s going on with you, Izuku.”

There was an eerie silence that adorned the room after that sentence was said. Izuku sat stock-still in his seat; not even his chest was performing its usual rise and fall. He was stiff, speechless. Inko fidgetted with her fingers nervously, awaiting her son’s crucial response.

“Mom,” Izuku finally uttered, and Inko could hear the tinge of melancholy that lurked in his tone. She looked up and met his gaze, instantly noticing the carefully constructed smile on his face—a farce, a cover-up to obscure his actual feelings and thoughts. “Sincerely, I apologise. I can’t do that.”

Inko deflated, her shoulders slumping rather from lost anticipation, or relief—from that reply being lighter than she had thought—she didn’t know. Her verdant eyes drifted to the dining table in front of her. He admitted that something was bothering him, but didn’t elaborate. Inko would be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed by it, but Izuku’s response was a very… Izuku thing to say. Even if it was phrased strangely.