Rotten Ribbons

Chapter Five

"(Y/N)? Is everything okay? You've been staring at me for a while now without saying a word," Aizawa questioned, breaking the silence between you both once again.

You blinked a few times, not wanting to let that topic go. "Um...yes, sorry, we can just eat quietly if you want."

His response was a nod, but it carried with it a sense of unease. There was a tension in the air, thickening the atmosphere around you like a suffocating fog. The weight of unspoken words hung heavily between you, casting a shadow over the room.

You both continued to eat in silence, the clinking of utensils against plates becoming the only sound in the otherwise stifling room. As you took small bites, your gaze would involuntarily drift towards Aizawa's hands. They were calloused, a testament to the countless battles he had fought and the sacrifices he had made as a hero. But they also held a story untold, a mystery that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

You hoped that he would tell you, spill the secrets that burdened his soul. But with each passing minute, it became apparent that Aizawa was not willing to share. His stoic facade remained intact, concealing the storm that raged beneath the surface.

After finishing everything on your plate, Aizawa stood up abruptly, his movements brisk and purposeful. "Thank you for dinner."

"No problem," you replied softly, your voice barely audible in the heavy silence that enveloped you. As you watched him put his plate in the sink, a sense of longing welled up within you, yearning for a deeper connection, a bridge between the chasms that separated your hearts.

"See ya," he muttered, the words falling from his lips with an almost dismissive tone. And with that, he left the kitchen without waiting for an invitation, his retreating figure disappearing around the corner.

You remained motionless, stunned by his sudden departure. Confusion tangled with disappointment, weaving a web of emotions that threatened to suffocate you. Why does everything have to turn out this way for you? Why was he so cold?

But amidst the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, there was something else. A fluttering sensation in the pit of your stomach, delicate as the wings of a butterfly. It was a feeling that defied explanation, a mix of hope and trepidation, of uncertainty and longing.

It must be the stir fry, you reasoned, desperately trying to rationalize the tumultuous storm that raged within you. But deep down, you knew it was more than just the food. It was the unspoken words, the unfulfilled desires, and the undeniable connection that lingered between you and Aizawa.

As you stood there, the empty silence of the kitchen surrounding you like a shroud, you made a silent promise to yourself. You would not let this go. You would find a way to breach the walls he had erected, to uncover the secrets he held so tightly. Because no matter how cold he appeared, you hoped you just had to get him to trust you. Maybe then you could convince him to open up. Even if it meant giving up what little progress you already made.

you went to bed after washing the dishes and cleaning up your cooking mess. you closed the curtains and switched off the lights and curled into a ball under the duvet. you pulled the sheets to your nose, trying to block out the smell of curry lingering in your nostrils, and fell into restless sleep.

The next morning came slowly. Your eyes opened and your limbs felt stiff and heavy. Your brain struggled to function, unwilling to wake up and realize it was day, and the dream still lingered. You groaned quietly, pulling the blanket tighter over yourself. What a nightmare.

Your phone buzzed next to your face, and you jolted awake with a gasp. Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins as your mind struggled to comprehend the sudden intrusion. Panic gripped you for a split second before you realized it was just a notification. You let out a shaky breath, your racing pulse gradually steadying.

Bleary-eyed, you reached for your phone and glanced at the screen. The time mocked you - your alarm had yet to go off, and you still had a few hours before you needed to be at work. The realization washed over you like a cool wave, a bittersweet relief that mingled with the lingering remnants of the nightmare. With a heavy sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed, your body feeling stiff and uncooperative.

Stumbling to the bathroom, you allowed the warm water of the shower to wash away the remnants of the dream. Each droplet that caressed your skin became a soothing touch, slowly rousing your senses and coaxing you into wakefulness. The steam enveloped you, a comforting embrace that dispelled the lingering unease.

Dressed and refreshed, you made your way downstairs, the familiar creak of the steps beneath your feet grounding you in reality. The anticipation of breakfast brought a flicker of warmth to your tired eyes. It was a familiar task, one that offered a small measure of comfort in the face of the tumultuous night you had endured.

But just as the aroma of coffee began to permeate the air, a loud crash shattered the tranquility of the morning. Your heart leaped into your throat, and you instinctively ran towards the source of the commotion, fear gripping you once more. As you entered the living room, your frantic gaze swept the scene, searching for any signs of danger.

Relief washed over you like a soothing balm when you realized it was just your mischievous cat. He had knocked over your breakfast, leaving a mess of shattered plates and scattered food on the floor. Anger simmered beneath the surface, fueled by fatigue and frustration. You were left without sustenance, a bitter reminder that even the simplest of pleasures could be snatched away in an instant.

As you surveyed the scene, your cat blinked up at you, wide-eyed and innocent, as if oblivious to the chaos he had caused. But the fury inside you quickly subsided, replaced by a resigned acceptance. It was just one more obstacle in a seemingly never-ending stream of challenges.

With a sigh, you set about cleaning up the mess, the shards of porcelain crunching under your feet as you moved across the room. The sound echoed in the silence, a melancholic symphony of shattered dreams and broken routines. The task was mundane, yet it held a certain catharsis, a way to channel your frustrations into something tangible.

Once the remnants of your ruined breakfast were cleared away, a hollow emptiness settled in the pit of your stomach. There would be no nourishment this morning, no comfort in the form of warm sustenance. But you couldn't dwell on it - there was work to be done, responsibilities to fulfill.

Pushing aside the disappointment, you readied yourself for the day ahead, steeling your resolve to face whatever challenges lay in wait. The memory of the dream still lingered, casting a shadow over your thoughts, but you refused to let it consume you. Life went on, and so would you, with or without breakfast.

As you stepped out the door, a faint glimmer of determination flickered in your eyes. Today, you would not be defeated. Today, you would rise above the challenges and the nightmares that threatened to pull you under. And maybe, just maybe, the taste of victory would be sweeter than any breakfast you could have prepared.