cxmpassions:
[ closed starter for @coldtempered ]
The streets of Musutafu are anything but familiar to Cole. He has a firm grasp of the language- for whatever reason, it simply seems to come to him, yet another odd side effect of his Quirk. Itās not hard at all for him to go unnoticed in the crowded city, which means heās free to do what he came here to do- help.
The pain hits him like heās been splashed in the face with scalding water.
His head lifts to scan the area, searching for the source, eyes wide and wild on his hunt. It hurts too much, tugging at his heart and twisting it. For a moment, it feels like too much. His breathing becomes quick and ragged.
Then his eyes land on the source. No wonder thatās how he felt. Purpose comes into his stride and he weaves deftly through the crowd with all the practice of someone whoās quite used to hiding in plain sight. When he finally comes to stand before the teenager, he puts a hand out to catch him on the shoulder and try to get his attention. I hope he can see me. I hope Iām real to him.ā
Ā Ā Ā āBurnished, burning, branded by the burden youāve been given.ā His voice takes on an almost sing-song lilt as he speaks. Curious, his head cants to the side.Ā āShe saw too much of him in you, and that made her scared, but I canāt see it.ā
Backpack hiked over his shoulders, Shouto walked home with his gaze stuck to the pavement ahead of his feet, lips pressed together in a thin flat line. Another long day at school, but he couldnāt hide out there forever studying in the library. Eventually his shitty old man would notice he wasnāt home. Eventually heād have to pack up his things and leave, retreat back home where heād face arguably more rigorous training than he received at school. Common now after all these years, but still no more enjoyable. But it was something he must endure, something he must tolerate for some time more. Or maybe forever. Ruminating on it was too much for him, all he could envision was defeating Enjiās purpose for him. Defying everything that was set out for him and rebelling at every chance was his only way out.
How would he do it today?
Training was required, even if he didĀ manage to squeeze out of it what else would he do with the time? No, heād train. But heād disobey every other order. Talking back and finding the little freedoms of the night, thatās how heād get through it.Ā
A hand squeezed his shoulder from behind, Shoutoās shoulder stiffened under the touch as his head whipped around to see just who had touched him. Someā¦ stranger? A scraggly, shaggy stranger had his hand on him, a foreigner maybe given his appearance, or maybe someone homeless? Seeking directions, or maybe a few yen, Shouto lifted a hand to knock away his fingers but the young manās voice stilled him.Ā
āHow do you-?ā The touch, that must be it. This guyās quirk, some kind of mind reading or telepathy or-ā¦ Did it really matter? Brushing his hand away, Shouto half turned away, left fingers sweeping over the puckered scar on his face. Rough and leathery, the discolored burn reminded him every day of what he fought for: The mother heād lost, the father heād never had, the life that was corrupted and scarred from the day of his birth. His unsightly face, the face his mother found so unbearable she deigned to burn it away to spare her the pain of looking at him, was a reminder of the iron shackles in his blood. Blaming her was foolish; heād deserved the pain for that which his father inflicted on her.Ā
āIt wasnāt her fault. Just because you canāt see it doesnāt mean itās not there, I am half of him.ā Glancing at the passersby, Shouto realized people were starting to stare. Two disparate young men standing stock still in the middle of the sidewalk? They were bound to draw some attention.Ā āWe shouldnāt talk hereā¦ Who are you, anyway?ā
āMy name is Cole. I want to help.ā
It sounds so simple to him, and he says it with a tiny smile curling on the edges of his lips. Smiles are reassuring, at least to him, so itās important to him that he keeps one up even though his attempts at help are being brushed away.
Itās being taken the wrong way, though. His head cocks to the side and itās hard for him not to frown. Thereās too many confusing tangles in there. Fire and ice were never meant to meet, not like this, but the boy exists despite that. He has to do something to help.Ā āI agree. It wasnāt her fault. She was frightened, but wrongfully so. Sometimes we are afraid of things that wonāt hurt us. Sometimes we see things that arenāt there.ā
At the mention ofĀ āhereā, he glances around them. What was wrong with here?Ā āIs there somewhere else we should talk instead? I donāt have a place. Sorry.ā Something like having a home was too concrete for a boy whoās more like a ghost. Judging by his appearance (and, honestly, his smell), itās unlikely that he sleeps, eats or bathes regularly.
