Green Storm ⚡ MHA

。002

TWO
GIVES AND TAKES,
WINS AND LOSSES
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　　A week later, Izuku stands in front of his bed staring at his school uniform. The light blue sweater lays innocently on his seamless sheets, white collar ironed perfectly down without a crease or stain in sight, gold star twinkles with happiness at his glum pout. The perfection of it almost distracts Izuku from the article of clothing hidden beneath, the source of his current discomfort.

　　"You don't have to go," Inko speaks up from her place against his doorframe. He had almost forgotten she was there. "No one will judge you for taking more time off." He sees her pull at a loose thread on the edge of her sleeve, a movement almost invisible from his peripheral vision, her eyes never straying from his unmoving form.

　　His Mother was right, no one would judge him. As far as his teachers and classmates were aware, he was sick, unwell, not feeling the best. Though they presumed physically, not emotionally.

　　It is silent for a moment; stagnant. The silence seems to be the new normal, heavy with the brittle emotions from what has conspired in the last few weeks. Izuku and Inko had continued with their lives, as if Izuku's hopes and dreams had not been squandered, as if Inko's love and life companion had not abandoned her.

　　Izuku knows he cannot control what has happened, knows he cannot change it; but — glassy viridian eyes flicker to the offending article of clothing once more — he can start taking charge of one part of this life, his life.

　　"I don't want to wear it," he breathes out, finally. He feels the weight on his chest expel with the breath that carried out the wish that had been hanging over him for years.

　　Izuku sees the confused tilt of his Mother's head. "Your uniform?" Her words come out slow, careful, gingerly. "You have to wear your uniform, though, dear."

　　She does not understand, and it frustrates him to have to spell out what has given him so much anxiety over the years. He clenches his small shaking fists by his sides, chin tucking into his beating chest. "Not the uniform," he swallows past the thick discomfort in his throat, "The skirt."

　　It is silent again, and Izuku finds an odd sense of stunted comfort in the absence of rejecting words. He feels the presence of his Mother's leave him for the first time that morning, and he turns just enough to watch her leave the room without a sound. He cannot gauge her reaction — does not know if this is her reaction — and he does not know how he should feel about that.

　　He cannot see her anymore, and there are no noises to hint at what she is doing. His mind runs with the possibilities of his Mother's thoughts.

　　'Is she angry? Upset? Is she alone with her thoughts of the disappointment of a son — daughter? Is she crying? Calling the Doctor or the mental hospital? Is she trying to get in touch with Hisashi? Is she blaming herself? Does she even know what it means? Or does she not even realise how much was riding on those words? Is it just a clothing preference to her —'

　　Izuku feels his chest tighten at the sound of his Mother's return, her undaunting presence stepping into the daunting room. He stares at his wall, the empty ashen burn on his wall staring back, and he cannot find it within himself to look at his poor Mother.

　　"So — "

　　At the sound of her straight tone, Izuku flinches, clenching his now watering eyes shut, the charcoal flower that resides on his wall now blooming under his eyelids.