it’s a terrible idea to read at night, in the dark. it strains your eyes, gives you headaches, messes with your vision—- all bad things. but that doesn’t stop enji from doing it. lit by the moonlight coming in from the glass panel behind him and the quiet, soft flicker of flame across his shoulders, he reads in silence in the dead of night, unable to sleep while waiting for more news regarding the high-end noumu. he’s refreshing his email again when careful steps tip-toe into the kitchen, and enji can see a dark figure creeping up to the fridge like a sneaky, sneaky little fox. natsuo had skipped dinner. enji had been at the table.
of course he must be hungry.
looking up from his tablet and beyond his reading glasses, the flame hero decides on sharing a tidbit of advice as his son rummages around through the shelves, knocking things over in search of dinner. ❝ …leftovers are on the right side, behind the fruit plate. ❞
maybe it was childish not to come to dinner knowing that his dad was going to be at the table, but after his outburst the night before he wasn’t ready to deal with seeing his dad again. not without the same anger bubbling up in his chest, ready to spill over again-- something he wanted to avoid. he wasn’t like him, at least, he hoped not. and while endeavor absolutely 100% deserved it, he didn’t want to subject his siblings to more of the same.
even if he didn’t deserve to just walk into their lives, apologize for-- countless things, and expect to be absolved. even if he probably had absolutely no clue the lows natsuo had hit trying to get his attention in his youth. even if natsuo felt sick sometimes, catching a glimpse of himself into the mirror (and by this point he’s glad his hair doesn’t grow in red).
which led to the now-consequences of his actions: hunger. that thing that happens when someone doesn’t eat. which also led to him hesitating in front of the kitchen entrance, seeing the flicker of flame just around the corner. he’s tempted to just-- turn back to his room, but he’s hungry. maybe if he’s quiet enough, his father would pick up the hint that he didn’t want to be talked to. of course-- no such luck.
“--right.” natsuo’s shoulders tighten as an embarrassing puff of steam rises from his shirt collar. he pushes aside the fruit plate for leftovers-- and after a moment of consideration, takes the fruit plate as well. did he mention he was hungry? he squints at his other options, and maybe he would have taken more time to peruse his options, but the flickering light behind him indicated that was a bad fucking idea. he withdraws from the fridge and makes for an escape.
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