~𝑰 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑰 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒅~ (𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒛𝒂𝒘𝒂 + 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒂)

~seven~

The days of training turned into weeks, weeks which turned into 2 full months. A lot has been going on at UA, but nothing was particularly interesting for Hitoshi. He was only in the general studies course, obviously his school life wouldn't be as interesting as a hero course student's. Even though he was training hard, Aizawa-sensei told him he would probably have to wait until next year (at least) for him to be transferred into 1A. So Hitoshi decided to wait.

The waiting was, in fact, the worst part of it all. His days started blending together, making him not be able to tell Monday and Friday apart. He fell deeply in a routine, and definetly not the healthiest one. His eyebags got even worse (yes that was somehow possible) and his natural shade of purple he's had for entire life started to pale in some places.

He didn't really care how he looked thought. He knew how his days were supposed to go. Wake up. Train. Take a nap. Prepare for school. Run to school. Nap. Wake up. Eat something small so Yamada-sensei will leave him alone. Train with Aziawa-sensei. Go home. Take beating. Do the thing. Draw design. Train. Do homework. Train. Pass out eventually. Wake up... And so on.

Even though the repetition was eating him from inside, it felt comforting having control over something as small as his program through the day. He, for once in his life, felt in charge. And that was enough to keep him going. Or was it?

No, he couldn't think of that today. He was going to still go to training, even though Aizawa decided it would be time for him to start learning how to fight properly. It was exciting, but it also felt like a burden. Something was going to be different and he didn't like the thought. He wasn't worried about the actual implications of the fight, he had taken many beatings in his life. 

Plus, the day wasn't supposed to be much different. Literally wasn't supposed, because his mom wasn't supposed to not be home. And for food to be on the table. That really wasn't supposed to happen, but he didn't have time to think about it. The training for that day was already occupying his entire head, he didn't need to worry about his mom. Or the person who was giving him a space to live. He didn't know at that point. He just wished he would make her proud, he would do anything for her.

The bruises from her were decorating his entire body, but he didn't really care that much about it. Every wound he had, he was treasuring it as a sign of love, signs that he growed attached to. It wasn't healthy, it wasn't normal, but he knew it was all he could ever get. He was at peace with it. Still, he needed to hide the marks that made him so proud from everybody else, they would never understand how he felt. Or how he didn't. At that point he was just numb, and would try anything to just feel something. His mom made him feel something, but so did the training with Aizawa. The feelings were different though...

Training. Yes. He had training to go to. He didn't have time to let his thoughts ramble. He went to look once again in the kitchen to make sure he wasn't missing something. Nope, everything was the same as 5 minutes ago, so he decided to go. He made a quick prayer to whoever might be listening that his mom was safe and went on with his day. 

He really did go on with his day, so well that he didn't realise that it was already time for him to go to training. He took his usual long-sleeved training suit and entered the gym.

And got kicked right there and then.

'What the fuck was that?' he growled at his teacher, trying to readjust himself to the new situation.

'First of all, language, second of all, I've told you. I'm going to teach you how to fight today. And what better way to do so than to let you learn from experience'

Hitoshi groaned, then straightened his pose. He wasn't going to mess things up. He wasn't great at all, but he didn't need to prove he was worthless. He could just pretend, for how long it would take, that his confidence was sky-rocketting and that he thought he was the best player in the world.