M u t e L o v e // KiriBaku

• Talk To Me •

        The meeting is at 11:00.

I emailed him sometime at 3:00 in the morning, with Eijiro tucked beneath my arm and his face against the side of mine. Through his even breathing I looked over, our lips came that much closer to meeting, and I told him with a wordless gaze: "I'm learning with you."

I leave the dorms at around 12:50. I would've left at 12:40, but Angel wanted a sandwich for lunch... I couldn't just leave without knowing he ate something.
Again, as I stepped out of the dorms, his smile warming up my day from behind me in the doorway, I smiled and told him I'd be back soon. In my head I told him: "I'm learning with you."

I get to the classroom with the time on my phone reading 12:58. The chairs are put up on whatever desks remain inside the room and the shelves are all emptied and dusted. I wander further in, feeling almost like a gravitational pull towards where my desk used to be. Deku's desk was changed to a newer one, and something about the way it shines brighter than mine scratches all the wrong spots in my brain. Looking away can only do more good than harm.

My eyes gravitate to the center of the room, where a large chunk of desks are missing, and a singular row that's been left behind has been tampered with as well. As I count each desk up, I find his still in its same attendance spot. The bored doodles and scratches Eijiro marked its surface with are still there, but a clear attempt at cleaning each one now translates into their faded appearance. Something about how something of his doing barely took a scratch from an outside influence feels familiar to me.
I sit down and lay my head where I know his forearms, his hands, his head once lay as well.

He's late.

The empty room prompts an attempt to gather my thoughts. Where do I begin? My mind continues to resemble a house fire, where my white counters are drowning in char and my curtains are up in floating, deadly ashes. Thinking of a solution is easy, but I can't make a pattern of turning to Angel every time my walls meet flames. Still, my hands itch to reach into my pocket, to grab my phone and call him.

The door opens before I give in.
A tired face walks in, familiar but adopting a newer edge of anticipation. His eyes are quick to look for me and they settle once they do, relaxing as if he didn't believe I would be there before he opened the door. He greets me with a nod, and I send one back.

"Thank you for coming." He sounds genuine, he sounds like he knows how important this must be.
"Didn't have any other good option." I throw back, sitting up against the varnished wood of the chair.

He pulls up a chair near the desk, but I zone in on the distance he keeps from me. It feels intentional. Then, we fall victim to silence.

"What can I help you with?"

It's a good question. A very good one, even.
But it doesn't mean that I like it. It feels targeted, like it always has. Like always, as well, I never know how to answer it.

I scoff. "Just let it be known... I can help myself."

It takes a second for it to click. He shrinks into a sigh, an exhale of weak laughter, and looks back at me with an all too knowing gaze.

"Then how can I help you help yourself?"

Well, this is it.
I imagine again, or at least try to, where I would be today if it weren't for Red's influence. I can't help but tell his smiling face again, as it pops into mind; "I'm learning with you."

_____________________________________

/A little boy sat in an empty classroom, before a wide projected screen. An article scrolled by, a casual pit stop given each time the face of a pro hero popped up. A world he once knew had been undone just with a poorly written internet article./