Butterfly [ ON HIATUS/MIDORIYA ]

012. loved.

✿

I was tending to my flowers and various plants. It was becoming easier to do daily tasks. My brother was doing well in all of his classes and Deku was seemingly at my side constantly. He would go off to do his pro-hero work, letting me know how he was doing and if he was alright.

Wada was a ghost in my life. He would be here to haunt the house, speak to me, kiss my cheek and then he would be gone. He was always on his phone. I tried to connect with him but I couldn't. I started cooking again and that seemed to perk him up.

He came home drunk that night. I had been waiting up, reading in our bed. The only place he would touch my face or my hand.

"Hey, my love," he said, stumbling into the room. I sat down my book, watching him, having a hard time believing what I was seeing.

"Honey, are you alright?" I asked, getting out of our bed. He had toppled over, landing sideways on the chair in our room. I looked into his chocolate brown eyes, trying to find the man I had fallen in love with.

"Now that you're here, I am," he said, putting his hand up to my face. He couldn't even look at me for very long.

"You need to go to bed," I said, not really sure how I was going to get him to stand.

He stood up, swaying. I watched carefully. He put his arms around my waist and kissed my neck. I wasn't ready for it, my arms pressed against his chest.

"Stop," I said, not used to him being so affectionate as of late. "Akinari, why are you doing this?"

"I love you, (y/n). That's why," he said putting his hand to my cheek. "If I— close my eyes, I can pretend you aren't deformed."

Deformed?

The words shattered in my chest. I felt myself untangle from his arms. I stared at him, trying to find the remorse. There was none.

"I didn't choose to look like this," I said, tears gathering in the back of my eyes.

"Wait, no, baby— I didn't mean it like that," he said, grabbing hold of my wrist. He pulled me back to him, close. "I'm not used to it. Give me time."

He buried his head in the crook of my neck. I was too weak to break through his hold. He began to sway, slow dancing with me. I wasn't comfortable, fighting back the urge to cry and scream at him.

"How much time?" I asked, wrapping one arm around his neck. He grinned leaning in close. I could smell the whiskey, but I didn't care. This was the first time he had held me close since my accident.

"Until you can be fixed," he said, his words slurring. "I can't take looking at another broken person. Not like my mother."

I clutched him close, understanding what he meant. He had never been good with words or his emotions. His father was never kind to his mother until one day, his father decided he had enough. His mother was kind, brave, and fought to survive what she had been dealt. She didn't last long in the hospital.

"I'm not your mother," I said, lifting my head from his shoulder. I moved my hands and cupped his face. I could see that emotion I knew, the remorse. He put one of his hands on top of my own.