Chapter Text
Kaminari Denki, 14 years.
I'm flying like a bird high in the sky. Fearless and brave, never a doubt in my mind or my heart. The world dances below me, shifting colours and shapes allowed to reign free of labels and limitations. To just be. I feel strong and alive, but most of all I feel free. Free to be me without any limits or boundaries. Nothing is impossible right now, nothing else matters except me and th-…..
"Kaminari!".
A voice pierces through my thoughts and my eyes quickly shoot open. I blink hurriedly, eyes adjusting to the bright lights of the classroom. Muttering a soft apology, I return my focus to the paper in front of me continuing to answer the questions lining the sheet, appearing as a blurry smattering of nonsense ink rather than comprehensive sentences. The familiar sensation of my classmates eyes glaring into the back of my head surrounds me and keeping my head down I silently curse myself for the habit I have.
Day-dreaming.
My mind is my safe place. It shelters me from the world, from all the jealousy and hate, pain and sorrow. From all the cruelty and discrimination that consumes the flawed world we live in. It allows me to escape my life and be whoever I want, whenever I want, doing whatever I want, minus all the bad shit that is reality. Whenever I close my eyes I enter into my mind, a place of freedom where the impossible doesn't exist; where I can escape.
Hugging my books close to my chest I walk out of the classroom. As expected, I receive the usual push and shove that could most definitely not be an accident. Rough hands suddenly grip onto my shoulders. A startling shiver skims down my spine. I don't even need to look to know who stands behind me, his body looming like a dark, slinking shadow. I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a hoarse stuttered whisper. “Can I help you Shigaraki?” He spits back like a snake, fangs barred ready to attack with words that I know will carry the usual sting of venomous hatred I’ve become numb to. “Oh, I was just wondering when you were going to get that stupid fucking head of yours out of the clouds.”
A sharp pain collides with my cheek, the impact causing me to stumble. The sound of mocking laughter fills my ears, hateful profanities spilling out of the mouths of onlooking students. Shigaraki’s sickening laughter trails off down the hallway as he strides away, a mob of students following his lead.
I lean against the wall and slowly sit down, eyes welling with tears. Every word and every laugh replays through my mind, each one like a small pinprick in my heart. Wiping a tear from my cheek, I slowly close my eyes, willing myself to enter my mind and escape.
Chapter Text
Shinsou Hitoshi, 17 years.
Yelling. Screaming. Tear stained faces. Agony. Pain. Sadness. Hurt. Those words are what my childhood memories consist of. All the other kids lives were filled with laughter and open arms to rush into after a joyous day of learning. My life was black and blue, bruises littering the fragile innocence of evil that a child should have.
When I was younger I didn’t understand what was happening, if anything I thought my life was normal. Didn’t all fathers yell and hit their children? Didn’t all mothers live under the fear of their husbands anger? Didn’t all parents drown their sorrows in glass bottles? Didn’t all children live in fear of their family?
I still remember the first time I saw it happen...the first time I saw my dad lash out. I was only four at the time but the memory still sticks with me, engraved in my brain. He had anger written all over his face, a harsh scowl upon his features. In one hand he held a green bottle, in the other my mums fragile wrist. The rest is a vivid blur; shattering glass, balled fists, screaming and crying, yelling and a harsh blow. My mums frail body fell to the ground. I ran towards her in fear. She told me those two words that have been repeated to me as a mantra my whole life. Two words that I have come to hate and loathe with the untruth they hold.
“Everything’s fine”
Yet nothing is ever fine. It never has been and it never will be. From that fateful day I saw it become more frequent. A hit to my mum. Another bottle thrown. A hit to my brother. Another scream. A hit to my face, a kick to my chest. Pain, pain, pain. Constant pain until I was numb with it.
I went to school, like any other kid. I pretended that everything was fine, and people believed it. As I grew older I realised that I was different. I didn’t have a family to care for me the way Ryusei’s did and I didn’t have hobbies like Sota. I didn’t have a group of friends like Hina did and I didn’t have a cool room like Aioto. My older brother, Shoma, noticed it too. The spark of hatred for my parents began then. It wasn’t much, just a little flicker each time I was yelled at and beaten, or felt the gap between myself and normalcy gain distance. But that fire of loathing grew. The slithers of childhood slipped away leaving me as a cold, hard shell of a boy with a hateful fire buried into my heart.
So, like any young boy resenting his parents would do, I started to rebel. I pushed the boundaries further, I wasn’t afraid to disrespect anyone who dared come close to me. It only resulted in more pain, more blows to the head, more blood to stain the carpet. I decided that I didn’t care anymore. Shoma did the opposite. He became increasingly shy and quiet, he hid away from his problems and cowered in the corner at my father’s harsh words. But I stood up to those words, as much as a thirteen year old boy could anyways. Although my hard exterior could withhold the pain, what remained inside could not.
Every night it got worse, the fear and sadness enveloping my mind as I slept. Dreams of angry faces and crying eyes, of blood and pain filled my nights. When I slept I longed for something more. I dreamt of the closeness of others, a concept so foreign to my conscious mind. The longing became so desperate that it felt better not to sleep at all then to have the false security of belonging.
I continued to push the boundaries, adding collections of ink onto my skin and cold metal piercings to my body. Who cares if it was illegal at my age? Who cares if my brothers glances became more scared and pleading? Who cares if my beatings grew in number and force? I didn’t give a shit...and I still don’t.
The older I got the more things changed; shut anyone out who got close to me, let the numbness of the abuse and pain take over. I became more distant, but most of all, I became even more different. Not only did I lack the caring family and perfect home, no, I also lacked the desires of all my peers and their morals. They all wanted girls, women to fantasise about, but I didn’t. They described how they felt when they looked at them yet I never felt this, well I did, just not in the way they did. The feelings of lust they described where what I felt as a looked upon my peers of my same gender. Other boys.
I knew it was wrong, it had been something I had heard from both my parents as something evil and sinful, something the world had drilled into me so strongly as wrong. But after everything else I had done that they hadn’t approved of, being gay was just something they would have to deal with. It wasn’t like I had to tell them anyways. And that’s exactly what happened. I didn’t tell them, but I made one big mistake.
I still told someone.
And that someone was my brother Shoma. I was sixteen at the time. I pulled him aside one night and told him what was happening, explained, as best as I could, how I was attracted to guys, how I was gay. He was quiet yet understanding about the matter, he told me that everything was going to be fine.
But now I know I can’t trust those words. Fine is just a concept, and abstract ideal of everything being just the way you want it to be. Fine doesn’t exist, not in my life anyways.
Fine is a lie.
Mum said everything was fine and it wasn’t. Shoma said everything was fine too.
Because exactly two months ago, nothing was fine. That day, exactly two months ago turned the fire in my heart into a raging wildfire, an uncontrollable blaze. That day left memories like burns brandished in my brain.
That day, Shoma let it slip.
I felt pain like I never have before. I felt ashamed, shunned and hurt. Numb. That day I ran, my brothers pleading eyes staring up at me and my parents glares of pure hatred and disgust burning into the back of my skull, the lashes of a belt still hot against my skin, the screams still echoing in my ears.
I ran. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. My legs burned and my lungs ached for oxygen, but I kept running.
And that’s how I have ended up where I am now, standing in front of looming school gates in Musutafu city. I don’t want to be here but I can’t afford not to. The workers say everything will be fine but I know from experience that it won’t be, but that’s okay. Nothing is fine, nothing is ever fine.
Fine will never exist for me. But maybe, just maybe, I can give myself a fresh start and for once, let go of my past and embrace whatever my useless life has left to offer.