COUNTING SHEEP|| Bnha

000

QUIETLY WATCHING

There is a shame that fills him as he watches his classmate shiver and cry-without-crying. He curves in on himself, a needless attempt to seem smaller. They're not friends and he doubts that his class even knows his name (moments like this remind him why that's a good thing), but it's basic decency and he should be decent.

He isn't.

He feels the need to call out and to say 'stop' because he's training to be a hero and that's the heroic thing to do; he doesn't. He doesn't because he knows better. Bakugo Katsuki is a prodigy, gifted at all he does and Bakugo Katsuki has credibility and Bakugo Katsuki seems bigger than life itself.

Bakugo Katsuki has a future ahead of him.
Midoriya Izuku is quirkless and is less than his peers (he tries telling himself that he's reading statistics, that he isn't cruel enough to truly think that, but he knows the truth).

Yet, he knows that Midoriya Izuku is strong, stronger than Keisuke will ever be because if Bakugo Katsuki was telling him to kill himself, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

He knows that the world is filled with people like Bakugo- the type to see their greatness etched in stone, the type that can hear the news reports about how amazing and strong and capable they are from the day they turn four and be right in seeing that as their future.

He also knows that the world is filled with Midoriyas. Powerless and weak before their enemy because even though they're not all quirkless (because in the end, what difference would it make to the world if they were?), they all cling to the hope that if their act is strong enough, they too can one day be seen as a hero, not knowing that a hero has to rip apart their foe while baring their fangs, the blood fresh on their teeth, because what use is it to act strong if you are not merciless?

(The thought leaves a bittersweet tang on his tongue as he thinks about the irony of those with the greatest ability to become a hero being the first to act otherwise).

So he watches and waits because he knows that as much as it's the heroic thing to do, to step in and help Midoriya, it's already four years too late and he is much too similar to the prey to help in the eye of a predator.

Then he wonders if it's a bad thing to be unheroic; if being a hero is worth it in the first place.

He knows the answer because he's seen the headlines and the idea hovers over his shoulder that anyone could be next.

His mom would be devastated if it was him: 'New U.A. Graduate, Keisuke, killed in a rite of passage amongst villains.' He may be cruel for not stepping in, but the media is crueler, and he doesn't doubt their ability to dig and find the truth about his silence during the middle school bully days.

He knows that if it ever came down to that, his death would serve as no boundary to the slander on his name. The thought makes his cowardice worth it; makes his need worth it. His need to stay out of sight and out of mind. His need to be timid.

When he glances back up, the classroom is empty and his heart aches from the weight of his sins; he knows that should his family find out about his true nature, their disappointment would last longer than any scar his classmate could give. He knows that his family isn't here and he is saved for another day; that doesn't ease the burden.

Right outside the classroom window is Midoriya, body lanky and seeming as though he's waiting in anticipation for someone to approach him- to finally acknowledge that what was happening was unjust- and help him as he fishes his notebook from the pond.

(Or maybe not. It doesn't matter if he is or isn't because that would be wishful thinking and if Midoriya was still wishing for a savior this late in the game, then he's an idiot. Nobody wants to be known for helping out the quirkless, awkward, teenage boy who never seemed to grow up and realize that the only way that he'd become a hero is if he fell from the school's rooftop and was reborn.)

Keisuke quickly looks away and he pretends as though Midoriya isn't just within his reach and tells himself that tomorrow will be the day. Tomorrow he will help, and though it won't make up for the years of silence, it's a start.  A new start for tomorrow.

It repeats in his head like a mantra until he can tune out the voice —that sounds eerily similar to his mother — that mocks him because he's said that before. He ignores it because it's true, and he knows that the cycle will never end because he is a coward.

But he pretends. He closes his eyes and he pretends that he is four years in the past and he is deserving of the love and care his family gives him.