Not Used To [AU, Heroverse]
He is not used to this, it’s what comes to his mind as he takes the train back home. He is not used to people stopping him on the train to compliment him, to talk about his skill and practice. He is not used to children pointing at him on thre street with looks of admiration instead of mockery or fear. He is not used to adults bowing politely in respect, or to cheerful teens asking him for a picture. He is not used to the awkwardness it brings to him, the desire of just vanishing from sight, the redness creeping up his cheeks behind the mask.
He is not used to the weight of the medal on his neck, nor the memories it brings him. He is not used to the screams and claps of appreciation, the roars of a crowd on his ears as he fights, the comments he can barely register consciously but pump him up for more. He is not used to this positive feeling of adrenaline, of audacity, the smile it brings to him as he throws himself at it, not out of fear or survival or obedience, but out of respect. He is not used to the feeling of machinery unmaking under his fingers instead of flesh, of trapping instead of hurt, of feeling his adversary's hand on his shoulder after the battle with a thankful tone to their voice instead of a deep loathing.
He is not used to the way his belly drops with anxiety as Hari steps on the field, to fight back the will to scream and get there with them, the joy of seeing them win and the smile on their tired face as they handshake and happily chat away with the girl who fought him- one who he notices, to his surprise, that he rooted for too during the battle. He is not used to sees his adversaries as people, as humans like him, and yet when that tall blonde boy with the phasing quirk greets him on the hallway, he is surprised with himself as he stops to greet him back. That same boy would be close enough by the end of the conversation to reach up to him and mess up his hair, and, though he grunts in irritation, his gaze crosses with that of the shy friend beside him, and it makes him happy to see the other boy smile back.
He is not used to the memories of the day nor to what expects him ahead, once he opens that door. He is hesitant at first, a hand hovering over the doorknob even if he does not quite know what makes him stop, what makes him pause and take a deep breath before moving forward, announcing his entry with a simple "I'm home."
It is the cue for something - someone - to hit him right on the chest, green, curly hair the only thing he can see, the arms around his waist and the sudden wetness on his shirt the more prominent signs that this is indeed a person. The boy who he learned to call little brother sobs against him, clinging to him like to his own salvation, telling in between sharp intakes of how he saw everything through the screen, how amazing he was, how proud he is, and so many other words that Kai cannot fully understand due to his mumbling. He does not have to understand the words to feel the emotions behind them, to feel the way his chest constricts with sudden warmth, and he hugs the kid back with his unpracticed arms, too at awe with making his younger brother happy to care for the moment.
He can see her there when he lifts his head from Izuku’s shaking form, the woman he learned to call mother. She greets him with a shaky smile and nervous wave, telling her other son to move so he can finally get in, but Kai sees beyond it - he sees how red her eyes look, how her other hand clings strongly to an used tissue. Many others litter the living room’s floor, in front of the still on television repporting the Sports Festival. Her eyes follow his, and as apologies start to pile one after another - I’m so sorry!! I know you don’t like when things are messy! B-But we didn’t know when you were coming, we were so anxious, I thought we had the time! I’ll clean it up right away! - he shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle.
He is not used to this - this feeling inside him and around him, this warmth spreading it’s tendrils around his chest. It is his adversary’s hand and Mao’s cheer, Hari’s laugh and Nejire’s grace, Mirio’s touch and Tamaki’s smile, Izuku’s tears and his mother’s hug as a sob creeps out of his throat and tears begin peaking through his eyes. He is not used to this, however you call it - admiration, affection, acceptance, love. He cannot hold it back, cannot fight the instinctual need as the people he call family cling to him more, and, for the first time in years, he feels like he knows what it is home.
Chisaki Kai is not used to saying thank you. But he is, surely, learning to feel thankful.
