#endeavor.

[yamiyo-yyyami]

May I offer y'all this:

wE'VE SEEN DEKU'S 'FLANNEL T-SHIRT' SHIRT! nOW GET READY FOR...... (dramatic pause) nATSUO'S FRONT AND BACK LABLED SHIRT!

(also featuring a content shouto eating his greens and a tiny headed endeavor)

[herohalf]

[TEXT] Shouto. I am Glad to be Hearing from you. I hope You have been well at school?

                   tch — he should have known it wouldn’t have been that easy. just a yes or no- a time would have sufficed just as well. shouto stares at the message, irritation bubbling to the surface, knowing very well this time around: he’d been the one to send something first so maybe to expect anything else was dumb of him. either way — his response is no different than all the times before, it didn’t matter if the terms had changed:

pleasantries with this man weren’t needed. 

     [ TEXT to // bastard old - man ] : yeah.

     [ TEXT to // bastard old - man ] : so will you teach it to me or not ? 

[herohalf]

                    you don’t owe him anything — it’s what you’ve said to yourself time and time again. until your throat was left raw and your heart was left bleeding- abraded by those words had your mistrust and bitterness of the world around you grew. they poisoned you. and so had he. but something has alleviated it’s effects, leaving you able to breathe again / many things have happened leaving you able to breathe again.

                 throughout the day it itches at the back of his mind, an emotion twisting in his stomach that he doesn’t particularly like but he’s come to know well. ( or perhaps now: shouto had learned to stop ignoring it along the way. ) and he’s aware of the before - but that wasn’t him anymore, a different body, a different time — but forgiveness evades him, and that’s okay he thinks. because everything else is different and he’s not drowning in hate nor mistrust, heterochromatic eyes are able now to see the blue in the sky, able to acknowledge the nuance of the things around him.

but he’s not an idiot. ( he’s never been that, at the very least. )

but.  .  . he can see it: that change slowly enveloping Him too. and that — that’s something shouto can understand even when everything else he can’t bear to consider lest it drives him mad and to those dark and sticky corners again. still, his phone is left untouched however, and god does it remain there. all day does it remain there in his bag, and so does the itch at the back of his mind as if the two are intertwined.

it’s only when’s he’s studying, pencil twirling mindlessly between fingers as gaze wanders does he pick up the phone. 9:00 pm. scrolling his contacts is slow, as if each name passed was another minute. ( he had many now - unlike before. ) shouto hesitates above the name, before finally clicking it and listening to the ring, ring, ring.

                          until  :            ‘ shouto ? ’

his father’s voice. shouto says nothing - only when the other is about to hang up a breath is finally taken.

‘ happy birthday. ’

and there’s more silence, as if that man is as surprised as shouto himself is. it’s a while before he hears a thank you from the other side and still, the boy says nothing in return for a few minutes after.

‘ yeah– i’m hanging up now. ’

           and so he does. but something was changing because even if he would never forgive him, there were some things shouto had come to understand.

[herohalf]

             the surrounding news of his father.  .  . and the new number two– tabloids were rumors, but sometimes they could be accompanied by photos that spoke words a thousand or more. of his FATHER of all people reaching to shake a child’s hand, of his FATHER displaying a fan-service brand kindness that somehow shouto could see more so in the glimmer of those eyes that he’d only known to be hard and cold. and those ugly feelings, always trapped in the pit of his stomach rise slowly, claw their way up to his lungs and throat.

shouto hates it. he throws the magazine to the ground- the tension in his body channeled to fingers focused as he clenches them and hits the wall behind him. ( over and over and over again. ) please go away. go the hell away !!! the ache in his hand accentuated by the burning in his eyes. it’d been a while since he’d last cried because of him.

why now.  .  . why the fuck was he changing now ?! when— when he didn’t need a father anymore.