#sclera writes

[blackscleraaa]

he presses his forehead against his, eyes falling shut. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’re okay,” he smiles.

“I can’t-”

“I know.”

“...I’m-”

he twists his fingers into the fabric of the other’s jacket and stays there, clinging to him for a few moments. then, he exhales and pushes him away.

(his eyes sting. he tries to convince himself it’s just the cold.)

“these- these feelings won’t be for forever, you know,” he whispers. “i’ll be able to move on. i’ll be able to forget.”

something in him twists when red eyes glimmer brokenly. 

“if it’s for your happiness, i’ll be able to let you go.”

[blackscleraaa]

Like this, with his back to her and his eyes on nothing but her reflection, it’s easier to pretend that he really is looking at her. Dark green hair that nearly shone midnight black under the flickering fluorescent lights, a face that shared a striking resemblance with his own, and the loving smile a mother would give at the sight of her precious son.

Like this, Izuku thinks, he doesn’t see more than what others would. He doesn’t see the sinister twisting of shadows beneath her feet and between her fingertips, the glow of red above her chest, the whisper and the ghost of something ancient overlapping with her being.

Like this, she almost looks like-

[blackscleraaa]

(His father’s wings do not grow through his back; they twist, dance in pretty shades of red between his lips before his eyes, before his mother’s fingertips, and it takes more than trust to be able to run your fingers through blazing flames and marry a man who showed no soul.

It takes love, it takes honesty, it takes a life-)

[blackscleraaa]

The child’s arms wrap around him, gentle and warm, and it should be easy to break out of his hold, he thinks, but it wasn’t, it wasn’t, and the bruising, vice-like grip his fingers had on his back was proof of that.

“Good evening, Haisaki-san,” he greets with a soft smile.

The illusion of his Quirk stutters, crumbles, breaks.

Red blooms in his irises, black engulfing the sclera of the child’s wide eyes.

Haisaki knew those eyes.

[blackscleraaa]

and he’d begged, not for forgiveness, but for another chance; another shot at failure, another shot at doing things another way.

he can’t make it right. he can’t bring back what once was- too many mistakes cannot be corrected with just one apology, but it was a start.

and for him - for them - perhaps that was all that mattered.