“ you think too hard, watt. “ blissfully unaware of the other’s inner turmoil, she squeezes his hands, watching patiently as he speaks. it was almost second nature to her to comfort those around her. a child crying, a citizen asking for help, responding to crisis. she liked making others feel safe, protected, & most importantly, loved. just as she hoped one day someone would make her feel.
“ i feel … “ voice trails off, suddenly quiet. what did she feel ? what was she supposed to feel ? happiness, perhaps ? “ i feel content. “ yes, she felt fulfilled. “ almost like this is where i’m supposed to be right at this very moment. here with you. “ pink hues flicker up to meet his gaze, thoughtfully.
“ i don’t feel like this all the time, watt. i only feel this way when i’m with you. “ & she offers up a smile, affectionate. “ i can bestow that feel good energy on others, but my quirk doesn’t work on me, there’s no way i could feel the rush of emotions love creates unless it’s real. “ her thumb smooths over his, & she squeezes their interlocked hands lightly. “ what you’re feeling now, would you describe it as love ? or is it just attraction ? perhaps neither. “ tone stays soft, “ i don’t know what love feels like, but i do know how you make me feel. “
SAFE ? PROTECTED ? LOVED ?
was it really possible ?
“ do i … make you feel human, watt ? “
SAFE ?
safety is something he had to earn, something he had to hurt others for. safety came in being owned; the mob took care of his needs and at times they made him untouchable by word alone. watt cannot remember the last time he felt like nothing could touch him --- like laws and fears no longer applied. sometimes when the storm is strong, he thinks he’s untouchable but that always clears, eventually. he’s always reminded that there are people who want him dead. there are people who will jump at the chance.
PROTECTED ?
he learned, at a young age, to protect himself. when the first kid with a quirk took a swing at him and laughed about weakness, he didn’t sit in the sandbox and cry. no. he stood up and he swung back --- again and again. tears were shed. hands were bloody. kids will be kids, yes, but those playground days quickly shifted into something more permanent when the shadows made it clear that he worked for them. so many kids grew up with the dream of becoming a hero, with being like all might. he was the one that fought their boogeymen --- while watt looked on and realized he was going to be like those boogeymen, too, someday. something to be feared. something people looked over their shoulders to avoid, but very real. the mob would have let him rot in the streets if he hadn’t toughened up, if he hadn’t found ways to keep himself safe.
LOVED ?
the mob did not love him. even the boss, who trusted him with some of the most important errands, would not shed a tear if he disappeared. watt grew up without parents or siblings to adore. he lacked friends without strings attached. fellow boogeymen. traitorous. out for their own survival in a world that only rewarded the bold. to love was to risk everything he’d gained. all his hard work. years of training his body and mind to be untouchable.
and yet.
she’s touching him.
he tries to make sense of it --- of the things she says. her quirk doesn’t work on herself. she doesn’t know what it feels like to be so puzzlingly happy. she doesn’t know what it feels like to have her head in the clouds, the air so thin that it’s hard to breath but every inhale is bliss. he feels so fucking dizzy around her that his own lexicon is useless. once proud of being so clever, he’s stunned to silence by a woman asking him if she makes him feel human.
his own hold tightens, a bit. frustration grows in his chest and with his quirk the way it is --- thunder can be heard. it is a gentle, rolling rumble, like something before a downpour. the air around them is suddenly heavy. damp. rain is coming and he’s still so inexperienced with his quirk that there’s almost no way for him to stop it. brows knit. he tries to hide under the brim of his hat for a moment as he struggles with the very human emotions rolling around in his chest. butterflies? no. this is the whole damn zoo.
“ yes.” a start, eyes focused intently on their hands.
“you make me feel ... like i’m actually someone.
instead of something.”
there’s a flicker in his eyes. lightning. emotion.
everything he’s tried to hold back.
“i’ve lived my life as a weapon for others. weapons do not want things. weapons do not feel things. weapons are replaceable. objects. my days have all started and ended to the same notes, the same tune. i used to hear love songs being played over the radio or in films and not understand them --- truly --- because i didn’t know what they meant. i didn’t know how to relate. now i hear songs about missing people and i think of you. i see hearts sprayed in grafitti under bridges and i think of you. people walk by me and laugh and i think of you. you consume my thoughts. the starting and ending notes are different. it scares me.”
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