Sonder

Insoucism

insoucism/in-soo-zism/ * noun

The inability to recognize how much sympathy you deserve, knowing that many people 'have it worse,' discounting the struggles you face as a coping mechanism to not address them, tell people you love, or get the help you deserve.

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It burned. That was truly the only thing he could seem to focus on at that moment. The burning, itchiness behind his eyes, the burning ache in his throat and chest, and somehow, for some reason, every time he inhaled, one of his nostrils burned with the dry, cold air of his apartment. He blinked slowly, eyelids heavy, and all he really wanted to do was just sleep. Even if it was only for an hour or two, he just wanted to rest. But his phone wouldn't stop ringing in his pocket, had been for at least ten minutes now, and finally he decided he needed to answer that before the incessant vibrating drove him insane.

"Hello," Shinsou said with no emotion in his voice, expression carefully blank. There were strange patterns forming and swirling on his ceiling, but he couldn't focus on a single one in the gray darkness of the early morning.

"Hitoshi?" Aizawa's voice filtered through, sounding just about as exhausted as Shinsou felt, and so worried. "Are you alright? I've been calling for a while and you didn't answer, but I know it's late there."

"Dad," Shinsou whispered, voice wavering underneath the weight of it all, the urge to tell his father what has been going on in his train wreck of a life stronger now than ever before. "Is everything okay? It's not like you to call at this time," he asked, swallowing past the lump in his throat as he tried to focus more on reality.

The silence that followed was more than a little alarming. "It's Eri," Aizawa said, voice quiet with barely any strength, but God was there enough to shatter what was left of Shinsou. "Her treatment isn't working anymore and she's getting worse. They want to start her on something else," he explained, vague as always.

Shinsou let that wash over him and stopped breathing, hoping the burning desperation in his lungs would be enough to fill the growing, empty void in his chest. But that wasn't exactly the case either, because he was fairly certain he didn't have any more feelings left to feel. It felt like every emotion he had was wrung out of him the moment he laid eyes on that white-haired woman sobbing her eyes out at Dabi's funeral. A sibling, maybe? Mother? He didn't know, didn't want to remember that dream-like moment that felt like years ago but wasn't even a full twenty-four hours ago. He blinked, felt a tear finally fall from his burning eye, trail down his temple and into his hair. Maybe he should just pack up and go to the US to be with his family? At this point it felt like he was going to have to say goodbye to Eri, too, and that was a terrifying thought. He didn't know if he could handle that, the mere thought filled him with a breath-taking panic.

His heart slammed fiercely against his ribcage, and somehow that hurt more than anything he'd felt before. He released a shaky breath and tried to swallow, wondering when was the last time he'd drank or eaten anything? He hadn't stuck around long after the funeral, couldn't bear to mingle around the small group of people that had shown up. The only people he knew there were Toga and Bubaigawara and he couldn't stand there and watch the blond girl cry into the older man's chest. There were no words of comfort he could offer. What could he say to make it better? There wasn't anything, nothing could ever really soothe the pain of loss. But was there something he could do or say to make his father's worries lessen?

"Hitoshi-"

"It's going to be okay," Shinsou cut him off, not sure if he was saying these words for himself or his father. "She's going to be okay. They'll, they'll find her the righ-right treatment and she'll be fine. We'll be fine," he said, voice wavering as his eyes burned and vision swam with even more tears, and everything hurt so goddamn much.