The first time, it had been in his mother's eyes. It was one of his first memories. The sadness, the grey despair that flooded her usually beautiful gaze. He had learned only years later that his father was the one to blame for this dull grey that used to shine so bright. His father, who had left without a word, leaving his mother alone with a son to raise. He had always hated the grey that replaced the flaming green when she thought he wasn't paying attention. He hated it, yet, his whole life was painted grey.
The second time he had faced the color was when he saw the video. The video he watched again and again and again throughout his childhood without ever getting tired of it. Smoke flooded the scene, a thick, dark grey smoke. He had loved this grey, because All Might emerged from it, All Might and all his bright vibrant colors that gave people hope and courage. He wanted to emerge from smoke too, he wanted to wear the same colors, bring the same message of peace and safety. He wanted to remove the sadness from his mother's eyes, erase the grey that painted the walls of his life. He wanted red, blue, proud and brave colors. Grey was too bland.
He would have wanted to ignore the grey of the too real and too close smoke in front of him. It didn't look anything like the smoke from the video on his screen. He would have wanted to close his eyes, dive into darkness and open them again only to find vibrant colors. But it was always grey, always the smoke, Kacchan's smoke. His quirk was terrifying, dangerous and powerful. He breathed in the grey, coughed and Kacchan laughed. He laughed too. The smoke was grey, stained his lungs, but the explosions were so beautiful, so colorful he couldn't look away. It was an impressive quirk, something that could make someone unbeatable, someone he wanted to become. He wanted this grey too, this thick smoke and all those colors. He wanted them so much. Kacchan got them before he did and he admired him for it. He would have a powerful quirk too, he knew it. He would be a hero, a famous hero, with Kacchan by his side. They would be the grey heroes, the smoke heroes.
You should probably give it up. The words echoed in his head like a cursed litany. He suddenly felt like he couldn't see colors at all. Everything was grey, the walls, the doctor's clothes, the same doctor who bore such bad news, the look in his mother's eyes, like it had always been. And... himself. He was grey. A bland and flavorless grey, without any glory or shine. A silent grey, one that went unnoticed, something so small and useless it wasn't worth people's time. He was insignificant. He didn't have a quirk. He had nothing special. He was banal, bland. He was grey, he faded into the back of the scene, couldn't become the colorful hero he had always dreamed of being. Kacchan said it. His mother said it. The doctor said it, everyone said it. He didn't have a quirk, he couldn't be a hero. Kacchan's smoke thickened some more. He coughed, coughed so much he thought he would hurt himself. And despite all that... He still admired him. Kacchan was so great, so powerful, so confident, it was impossible to not admire him when he was everything he had ever admired in All Might. And he was right there. Surrounded by grey and thick smoke, like his favorite hero in the video. He was reachable, real, and he didn't have it in himself to look away. Despite the smoke that suffocated him, the explosions that echoed too loudly and made his ears throb. He admired Kacchan and he didn't give up. Everyone around him repeated he couldn't become the hero he wanted to be. Giving up would mean proving them right. He kept on hoping, trying. Maybe if he wished for it hard enough, his quirk would appear. He would suddenly be able to spit fire, like his father, big tall dangerous flames. He would have his own grey smoke, he would become a hero. It was the only way.
The posters on his walls began to pile up. The video was constantly on loop on his computer. He wondered if he covered his walls with posters to hide the grey with valiant colors of his hero, wondered if he saw All Might in the video or the dream he could only hope to reach. The smoke thickened again, Kacchan was growing more and more powerful. He stayed insignificant. It had been a long time since he had last seen something other than grey, the shapeless grey that painted his quirkless world. Everything was vapid, uninteresting, and he faded in the background of his own mind. Kacchan was on the forefront, loud and powerful. People noticed him, saw him. He was only one of his stupid admirers. He would have wanted to turn away, look for his own scene, and shine with his own colors. It was impossible. He was grey. He couldn't repaint that, couldn't hide it, not when Kacchan reminded him every day, made him greyer and blander with his vibrant red. His dark uniform, his pen's color in his notebooks, Kacchan's smoke, Kacchan, Kacchan. It was like there was only him. He picked up his wet notebook. The pages were singed, grey, smelled like smoke. Go take a swan dive of the roof of the building. The smoke was too thick, too dense, he didn't want to breathe through it anymore. Maybe he could do that. Follow the advice. Kacchan was right, he was insignificant. His world was grey and when he watched the sky, from the building's roof, it was grey too. Everything was grey. His dreams at night, the smoke through the day, all his life, everything had always been grey, bleak, sad. It was so stupid. His dream was stupid. Yuei. What was he thinking? He didn't even have a quirk. All the students were all so impressive, colorful, they seemed happy. His place wasn't among them.
