From Another Perspective | Shinso Hitoshi x male! Reader

Chapter 1: Late Night Ruminations

Warnings: mild depiction of violence (?), philosophical thought

Reminder: Do not skip the chapter before this. It has context info on (y/n) and you will get confused later on if you don't read it. I'll give you a minute ...

... Ah you're back. You may now continue reading!

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(y/n)'s POV

Perspective is incredible. Every one of the billions of people on Earth is an individual, an individual with thoughts of their own invention. The eyes of one will view the world differently in comparison to any other pair. Sonder is a good word to use here – a word referring to the realization that each person is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. It's a humbling rumination. Although you might be the main character of your own story, the same is true for any other human being, and no one being exists at the center of the universe.

As for my perspective, the people I see around me are made of wood; their figures are littered with rough edges and splinters and move around like puppets on strings. They are not doomed to exist this way forever though. The longer I spend with a figure, the more their features are smoothed out – as if a greater being were going over them with sandpaper and polish. Then, their wooden limbs soften into flesh, their movements becoming fluid; these areas begin as spots that grow until their eyes and ears are revealed. They finally become human. True, they were human already, but I can never see them that way.

To this day, the only people who have reached that level of humanity are my parents and my two childhood friends. For most of my life, the only direction that my peers followed were toward that same goal; it was startling, however, to wake up one day surrounded by disfigured lumps of rotting wood. They slid menacingly across the floor like chess pieces and when they spoke, clumps of damp mulch, moss, and bugs oozed from their mouths. After that event, the rest of society's humanity flaked off their figures like dried paint, returning to their original wooden state. That experience will forever be engraved in my memory.

"What are you doing up this late, (y/n)?"

The monotone voice shakes me from my reflective state. I turn from my spot on the roof's edge to find the owner, Hitoshi Shinso, walking toward and resting on the ledge next to me. His figure is almost entirely human, though a wooden band wraps around his head covering his eyes and ears. If only my mind would allow me to see them, to let them see me; I wonder what color his irises are.

"Shinso, hey! You know, it's only 1:30," I respond avoiding the question. Shinso gives me a look that compels me to continue, "I can't sleep. My head wouldn't be quiet, and I needed to get out of my room, so I came up here. Rooftops have always been my favorite place to think. How'd you know I was up here anyway?"

"I don't sleep much either, so when I heard your door and footsteps heading to the elevator, I got curious and followed," he answered. I snicker at my thoughts.

"It's great to know a fellow insomniac," I laugh lightly looking out across the campus. The school looms over the trees in the distance, its glass exterior walls reflect the light of the moon. My eyes travel to the ground below us.

"Shinso?" He hums in response. "What do you think of me?" Silence engulfs the two of us as he contemplates the question. My eyes refuse to move from their fixation on a random hare moving cautiously across the grass as if it were lost.

"I think of you as a close friend. You were my first friend in 2-A, and you treated me like an average person rather than someone to either idolize or avoid entirely. It was refreshing. You are welcoming, humorous, and incredibly empathetic, even if your knowledge of social cues is a little askew." I snort at that notion. "Being around you makes me comfortable." I pause for a moment.

"Would you still think that if I did something irrevocably wrong? Would you be able to forgive me?" I can't see him, but I can feel his gaze searching me for more information.

"I can't predict the future, so I can't say for certain," he speaks slowly and with careful precision, "but I know that I would truly want to – that I would do my best to be there when you're going through a rough patch. Is there something you want to tell me, (y/n), or is your mind just wandering again?"

"The latter; my mind becomes a maze of thought during the night. 's probably why I'm still awake." I turn to look at his expression; he doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he gives me a small comforting smile and doesn't ask any more questions.

We stay like this – looking over the school grounds and observing the night sky – for about another hour. By then, I finally start yawning. We say goodnight and part ways, heading to our individual rooms. Not long after, sleep finally claims me.

-Four years ago-

Third Person Omniscient

Hundreds of feet into the ground, a concrete hallway, dimly lit and vacant, is lined with hundreds of doors where a tiny, isolated room lies behind each of them. These iron gateways muffle the horrid sounds within, but the screaming and begging of a middle school child echoes off the walls with extreme clarity. The child wears a hospital gown, damp from their perspiration, and they thrash against the wheeled chair that carries them down the unending hallway. Arms, legs, and chest: each are forcefully held in place by leather straps, but that does nothing to stop the cries that escape their mouth.

The adults that follow behind them are dressed in white coats and masks; they pay no attention to the pleading child and continue pushing their chair until they reach the final door in the hallway. The child can do nothing but watch as they are wheeled into a 4-ft x 4-ft room lit by a single hanging light. Two of the masked figures hold the child's shoulder and arm firmly in place – though moving it at all was already nearly impossible – a third pulls out a syringe and injects a substance into their bicep. Immediately, an icy sensation spreads through the child's system; it feels as if they have been thrown unclothed into a frozen lake. Goosebumps and a cold sweat cover their skin. The air is filled once again with the sound of screams.

The adults leave the room, bolting it behind them. One pulls out a voice recorder and begins to speak into its microphone.

"Trial 3 on test subject #3-10-60296 is proceeding as scheduled. We will return at 2300, six hours from now, to test the subject for increased quirk strength."

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A/N: If it wasn't obvious, I spend a lot of time in my head and I don't get to release the thoughts I have into the world often – or ever. I'll likely do personal thoughts like this at the end of each chapter because I want to. If you don't care, skip over these.

Word Count: 1190