Familiarity

Chapter Fourteen

warning: mention of drunkness (including unsafe uses of alcohol), and domestic violence

in case this might trigger you, i would suggest skipping this chapter. a non-descriptive summary of what happened and what was said will be in ending notes.

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Talking about what you needed to talk about didn't occur as quickly as both you and Bakugou thought it would. It was neither of your faults.

It had been a week. The world still seems to be a bit fixated on Yuuei. You and Bakugou were asked to speak on the topic as the school continued to go under fire, but both you and your families denied it. Your family was fairly busy anyway. Your brother had a doctor's appointment along with you. Your father worked from home as your mother got groceries. And your father tucked your brother in at night while your mother began acting strange, a bit more neglectful than before.

Still, you guys were busy at those points. You and Bakugou had to catch up on the week of school you missed, and were now enrolled for temporary online classes so graduation didn't fall behind. Most of the attempt was for the third years as well as the fact they didn't want to be behind schedule either.

Midoriya was at the hospital. You spent some of your time visiting him with your classmates by your side. You weren't very close with Midoriya, but your heart ached for him. There was this fire in his eyes but this weakness in his face that upset you. Every time you glanced at him when you visited, all you could hear were the echoes of your mind like a desperate mantra. All you could hear was your own self-deprecation for all of it being your fault. And the reminder of what Bakugou believed of himself if he had been the one in the hospital.

Over the following two weeks, Midoriya healed. And as his wounds were sealed over and the initial fire of the entire situation turned to mere embers, things with your family went downhill.

It wasn't strange that your mother was around but inattentive. That was normal; she always existed around the house while she worked on her computer, and she never paid any mind to you or your brother. Often you only saw her during meals and early in the mornings. However, it was impossible to miss her sudden emotional downfall. The tightening budget. The sudden drinking. The neglect suddenly overwhelming.

It wasn't like your mother lashed out or hurt you or your brother. She only became more ignorant and useless. Sometimes you would watch her in the dining area wallowing against the tabletop with a drink loose in her grip and drool in the corner of her lips. There was always a pity inside you. There were always these questions.

Was it your fault she was like this? Rather, why was she like this at all? And so suddenly?

You never tried asking. Nothing would happen. Nothing would be answered, and though you never attempted to, you knew. You recognized that glaze on her eyes, that sadness that was incomparable to even grief. It was that gloss you remember seeing on that bloody body you walked in on, your aunt and uncle standing above them. It was that gloss you had seen many times before that—that blankness that sat behind hallucinating eyes.

For a few days, you thought she was mute. When you called out for her she didn't answer. Likewise, your father was always unable to reach her. Even your brother told you the night prior, when he walked upon her silence, that he believed her head was stuck in a dream while her body was with the rest of us.

But it was an early Sunday morning. It was cold outside and a thin layer of snow sat atop the roads in peace. Your mother approached you by knocking on your door. She already smelled of alcohol when you opened it and stood before her.

"We need to talk," she said. She finally spoke, but her eyes were still blank and glossy.

"About what?" You glanced back at your brother, who was staring at the two of you with curiosity.