Solstice and Eclipse: Part I

Chapter VII: The Blue and White Capsule

It didn't take long for (L/N) to adjust to life at Shonien's. Everything was run on a set schedule. Wake up at 8:00, breakfast at 8:30. Classes would last from 9:15 until 11:30, then lunch from 11:30 to 12:30. The school day ended at 4:00, then time for the daily vitamins. Mr. Saito would be waiting for the children, sitting in a room with all the pills and handing out small paper cups with several different vitamins. One fiber, one B-12, Vitamin-D, Vitamin-E, and Calcium. The children were then given a snack and several hours of free time, then at 6:30 it was dinner. Bedtime was at 8:00 pm sharp. At night (L/N) lie awake, the sounds of the house shifting and the noises of the city keeping him awake. The metal springs in his mattress jabbed at his back and the blankets they gave him itched even worse than the ones at his grandparents.

The next three years all blended into one indistinguishable haze. Every day was the same. Nothing ever happened. He had little to look forward to each day. His schoolwork was simple to the point of boredom and he had no friends. The other children found him odd. He was quiet and the blindfold made them uneasy. He didn't like any of the stuff kids were supposed to like. He spent most of his time reading. At least that's what their teacher, Ms. Sasaki said it was. But they didn't understand how those funny little bumps spelled anything. Yes, (F/N) (L/N) was certainly strange.

As he got older, his already heightened senses began to develop even further, leading to a severe case of sensory overload. He could taste the chalk powder in the air during class and smell the brand of cigarettes that Mr. Nakamura had smoked two days prior. The water droplets clung to his skin and rolled off him in beads when he showered, the soap cutting through the thin layer of dirt that coated his skin, like peeling away a second skin. At night he tossed and turned, clutching at his head as the sounds of traffic rattled in his brain. The other children thought he had gone mad.

By the age of seven he had been separated from the other children and given his own cramped space in the corner of the boiler room so he wouldn't scare the other children. But the sounds of the furnace made his head split, the water running through the pipes giving him a sense of vertigo. He would curl up in a ball and keep his hands pressed firmly over his ears. Perhaps with proper training he could have learned to dampen his senses, but there was no one to teach him. The faculty of Shonein Children's Home were clueless as to how to help him, so they brought him to a government facility dedicated to the research of quirks. The scientists kept him overnight, hooked up to different machines that monitored his vitals. After several days of study, they presented a solution in the form of a blue and white capsule.

It was a combination of several neuro-inhibiters. The drug would act like the natural chemical molecules that caused his sensory neurons to fire, but instead of triggering a response in those neurons, they would instead block the bonding site on the dendrites and prevent those natural chemicals from reaching their activation threshold. In layman's terms, they would reduce his extreme sensitivity to stimuli.

He awoke the next morning with a splitting headache. He had been so lost in thought the night before that he had forgotten to take one of the capsules. The migraine was a result of having had to suffer the loud noises of the furnace pounding against his eardrums all night. Or from withdrawal. He wasn't sure which, and frankly, he didn't care. All he cared about was stopping the sound of the other sleeping children's' breathing from reaching his ears. He reached for a glass bottle sitting on his bedside table which held a number of blue and white capsules. Someone flushed a toilet from somewhere in the home and he gritted his teeth at the overwhelming sound of the water rushing through the pipes. He hastily swallowed down three capsules, breathing deeply as he felt the world around him fade away until it was no more than a distant fog.

He threw on his school uniform, the itchy cotton no more than an afterthought thanks to the effect of the pills. Pocketing the glass bottle, he swiped an apple from the meal room before starting his walk to UA. It had been several weeks since the incident took place during combat training. Since then he had made it a point not to draw any more attention to himself. He kept his head down during classes and avoided talking whenever possible. Whenever one of his classmates did try to strike up a conversation, he would shut it down before it went anywhere. It had served him well thus far. Limiting his responses to only a few short words seemed to stave off all of them. Well, almost all of them. One of his classmates seemed especially determined to make his acquaintance. Midorya he believed his name was. While the rest of Class 1A had taken the hint, Midorya remained unrelenting. He was persistent if nothing else. He never seemed to stop, just question after question. He was a strange person, (L/N) decided. Often times he would ask (L/N) a question and then immediately ignore any response, instead attempting to answer his own query by rambling under his breath in a way that gave (L/N) a headache. After a few weeks, (L/N) found the best way to avoid conversations with Midorya was to let him continue with his mutterings until he either tired himself out or Aizawa silenced the class. Other than Izuku, no one pried too much.