14 Days | KiriBaku | BakuShima

Day 0

- Three Years Prior -

Kirishima stared blankly at his arm, the tanned skin blocked out by the writing. The house was quiet, his father gone for the day at his respective workplace, and Kirishima was alone. But what else was new?

Slowly tracing his eyes over the curl of each letter, Kirishima allowed himself to wallow in his misery. The sheer, overwhelming pain of having no one reply was crushing him, crushing his heart, his soul. It was eating him up inside, making it harder and harder for him to go on. After all, everyone had a soulmate except for him. Either that, or his soulmate simply didn't want him.

Not that Kirishima would blame them. With his perpetually downcast crimson eyes and long, limp black hair that hid his dejected face from view, the tears only a moment away, Kirishima wouldn't want himself either.

Absently thumbing at his scar, Kirishima swiped a hand over the message, watching it fade from under his fingers. He raised his pinky, looking from it to his left arm, then pressed it down. The red dot appeared instantly, a mark that would appear on the arm of his soulmate, wherever they were. Kirishima pulled his finger down, then up and looped it, tracing a word, then another. He then decorated it with a series of stars, and held his arm away, admiring his handiwork.

I wish you would talk to me, it read, the message sounding much more downhearted than Kirishima had meant it to. He purses his lips, wondering whether or not to try again, but decided not to. Maybe this would be the day he would get a reply.

Minutes passed, then hours, and the message began to fade, not from someone erasing it but simply from time taking it's toll. Kirishima hadn't moved from his seat on the couch, preferring to remain perfectly still, like a statue. This way, he could pretend that he didn't really exist, something he found himself wishing for more and more recently.

A slam sounded from somewhere to his left, the sound of Kirishima's front door closing, and a look of panic came over his features. Jumping up, Kirishima vaulted over the back of the sofa and darted across the living room, heading for his bedroom door. Just as his fingers brushed over the handle, a voice stopped him.

"Eijirou."

Kirishima froze, body rigid. He didn't want to turn, he didn't, but he knew it would be worse if he didn't.

So he turned, facing the man who stood behind him.

Kirishima's father was a towering figure, much taller than anyone Kirishima could recall seeing, with a constant look of anger on his face and fists curled, always ready to hit something - or in Kirishima's case, someone. Now that he was older, Kirishima had gotten better at dodging these attacks, but he wasn't always so lucky. There were days he couldn't go to school because of the bruises, and those days were the worst, because Kirishima always knew he was missing out on something, and that just made the hole in his heart even bigger.

"Where are you going?" Kirishima's father asked, placing his hands on his hips and fixing his son with a suspicious glare.

"To my...to my room," Kirishima mumbled, wanting nothing more than to disappear. He itched to move, to spin around and lock himself away, where he couldn't be harmed, couldn't be hurt.

Sure, he had his quirk, but it was something his father hated, since it reminded the man of his mother, so if Kirishima ever tried to use it, then the punishment would get ten times worse.

"Sorry? I didn't hear you," his father mocked, narrowing his eyes, challenging him to retort back.

"To my room," Kirishima repeated, louder this time. He held his head high, not showing weakness since weakness was what his father hated the most. Not only that, but Kirishima hated his weaknesses. Those of others didn't bother him; people who could show their insecurities were some of the strongest people, Kirishima had long since decide. But his own struggles were those he wanted - he needed - to keep hidden, or else he may lose the fragile hold on his sanity.