Tuesday's Teenage Ambitions

Chapter One

A/N: Hey, Readers!

Fair warning, I'm pretty sure I don't use them in this chapter but I will be attempting to use honorifics! I have searched numerous times and there are varying answers. So, if I am using them incorrectly please lmk!

Another fair warning: this is like my first fic. So, bare with me and this crazy ride. Constructive criticism is welcome but don't be an ass please and thanks lol

Also, This will be cross-posted on AO3 under the same username please lmk if you see anywhere else!

And I don't have an update schedule, I jump between works frequently lol

Oh! And translations are welcome just tell me first and give me credit please!

WARNING - TW/CW:

I don't think there are any…

Maybe non-graphic descriptions of bruises?

Brief description of a nightmare??

Idk but lmk if I missed anything!

Chapter One:

A Little To The Left

+ × +

A large dark clawed hand reaches for him.

Screeching, incoherent yells, and fighting rings in his ears.

He didn't realize it before but he's falling.

And falling fast.

The hand is closer, its fingers spread as wide as they can go.

A chill envelopes him and instead of dread filling him, only a sense of accomplishment does.

Before everything goes black.

+ × +

Shinsou Hitoshi's eyes snap open as he sucks in a panicked breath. His eyes scan his surroundings…only to find himself in a bedroom. His bedroom. He closes his eyes and tries to calm his breathing. Obviously that– whatever that was– was just a nightmare. Some vague horror movie short his subconscious cooked up. Yeah…just a very realistic nightmare. His breathing finally slows and he rubs his face, tiredly.

He goes to sit up but pauses. Something isn't right, something feels off. It's like deja vu but…wrong. His brow furrows as his brain tries to work while booting up. Everything seems the same though. His walls and ceiling are a dark indigo, his room still has its white trim. His ceiling is still covered in accurate constellations with glow-in-the-dark stars. His black, blackout curtains are still hung up, protecting him from the harsh light. It's still a bit cluttered and a little messy. But everything seems the same.

So why does it feel wrong but so right at the same time?

He tries to wrack his brain for the cause but comes up empty. A knock sounds at his door and he finally sits up. He stares at it with anticipation. Who is it? Mama opens his door, peeking her head in. Mama. For some reason the mere thought of her makes him want to cry his heart out. But also to hug her and never let her go. Never let her leave again.