Familiarity

Chapter Sixteen

You weren't close with your mother. You never had been.

And you were sure from the age you began to coherently think, that you would never be. She had never been attentive nor kind. It never seemed like she cared—or, at least, that form of affection was never conveyed properly.

But you remembered those times before your siblings were born, before the incident when your mother would make your birthday cake. You would always be excited and ready to help, prepared for the moment she would wipe leftover frosting on your nose. Those same nights, after happy birthday was sung to you, she would cut a small piece and shove your face into it. Your father would always take a video of it, laughing from behind the camera.

It was those moments when you felt loved—the only memories you remember feeling close to them, like a true family. And it was those same moments you looked back on after you realized all of the horrid things you had done, beginning to understand all the things at risk.

Was it the things you did that made her change? Was it the killing you helped commit that shut her out? What stopped the birthday cakes?

What stopped the love she felt for you? What stopped it?

Just thinking about it—those memories—made you want to crawl into her arms once more, crying and desperate. Her image was broken. The woman she once was had shattered. Even though she had never been the best, the one who cared the most, she had still been your mother. And even after all she did, you wanted her to hold you once more. You yearned for that comfort.

Except, you and your brother still refused to go home when your father called.

So, perhaps that wish of being held was only a dream—a fantastical wish you had never sincerely wanted, but needed if only for a moment.

Night came soon. The sun began to fall, and dinner passed. You gave your brother a bath and thanked Masaru for going over to your house and picking up the bags of clothes your father put together. You even called and thanked your father for making the bag in the first place. He said that he only wanted the best for you and your brother.

You took a shower, yourself, and talked to Mistuki in the living room while Bakugou took one. Your brother sat on the couch on your right, holding the All Might toy he always slept with. Tears were on his eyelashes again. Or maybe they had stayed there from earlier. Or perhaps it was only the water from the bath.

Mitsuki was on your left, pulling on a cardigan and sighing. "Are you okay?" she asked.

You looked at her. It was wrong to presume she wasn't the type to ask such a question, you knew that. But you couldn't help but feel that way. Maybe it was the lingering image of that strict woman you saw as a kid.—the unchanging picture that had lasted more than ten years without a crack or shatter.

You allowed that to fall from your mind. "I'm fine," you said. She looked at you as if she didn't believe you. "I'm fine. Really."

She almost scoffed, turning away from you. "You're just like Katsuki."

Your eyebrows knitted against your eyes and you leaned forward to look at her face. "What?"

"Never mind."

"No," you said, "I'm just confused. I don't think anyone could be the same as him."

As the words came from your mouth, you realized you said something that came across completely different from the way you intended it to. You wanted to say he was too pompous and prideful. That no one could ever amount to that sort of ego, or act with as much ignorance as he did even when he cared a lot more than most.