5- The story's a bit slow, but please, give it a chance.
- My native tongue isn't English, so I apologize for the grammatical mistakes.
"Throw the window"
Chapter 1
The passage from one year to another means nothing more than changing the date you write in the exams. Or that was the idea I had until recently. I mean, I understand that for most people it represents leaving behind "the past self", the desire to become a better person, the thought of a better time... But at the end of the day it's just a number. Life changes because it does. No one's going to wake up different on January 1st, they will simply have adopted another layer to their personality. Another facet. A new mask to cover the face, that nobody knows about. And that's not change, it's illusion, hypocrisy.
But what do I know? This is nothing more than a disorganized and pretentious attempt at reflection, following the fact that my life changed in the early hours of January 1st.
On Thursday, December 31st, I was in my room as usual, finishing up some chemistry homework. Molar mass, molecular weight, NCH, etc. were the companions of that rainy afternoon, where in addition the weather reports predicted a strong storm for the same night, which meant the cancellation of the outdoor events of celebration of the new year. Not that it would affect me, I'm not a fan of outdoor activities; but it sure does upset a lot of people's plans.
Our family, consisting only of my mother and myself, would spend the holiday at the home of some acquaintances, the Bakugo family. This was a great effort on my part, since the son of the Bakugo family and I did not get along. I preferred to lock myself in my room and spend New Year's Eve like any other night, reading or watching a TV series.
The parents are good people and they're very nice to me, I like them despite the eccentricities, but the relationship with Katsuki was, to put it simply, violent. Our families met at the "Blue Tram Day Care Centre", the only one in the neighborhood. And from then on, the closeness and the fact that both mothers got along very well formed a relationship that, in my opinion, has only brought problems.
I can't exactly say when we started to get on the wrong foot with Kacchan, although I have my theories. But nowadays I only know that there is no better term to define the relationship than bullying. Him to me. Him and all his colleagues, because we happen to go to the same school. But I prefer not to think about all this.
After finishing my homework and seeing that I still had time to go to dinner with the Bakugo's, I set out to entertain myself for a while in the fantasy of video games. In this case a new military strategy game that for some reason was causing furor among young people. I heard some of my classmates talk about the strategic difficulty of campaigns and the complexity of getting the max stars, but personally I didn't find the challenge that impossible. On one hand, by following the classic and universal method of trial and error a couple of times you got to know the movement pattern of the artificial intelligence; and then, the highest scores are achieved with patience and reasoning, taking notes, etc. Practicing. Game or not, it's still based on tactics and expertise, chess with other pieces. As Sun Tzu said, "think and deliberate before you make a move", or something like that.
A strong lightning bolt took me out of my thoughts, fleetingly illuminating the hitherto dark room uniquely lit by a warm desk lamp. Without getting out of my chair I pulled back the curtains in front of me and looked out at the street. The storm had come earlier than expected; in an instant the faint sound of rain turned into a shrill peal. I opened the window -knowing the danger of doing so- and put out my hand to feel the precipitation, which is said to have a calming magic. It makes you think of big movie acts; of going out in the street and getting wet, and of spinning around like a merry-go-round while you think of a heartbreak or rethink your life. And you reach the depths of your misfortune, from where there is only one direction left, the hard but dazzling road to the top. But none of that is real, life is not Hollywood. It's tangible, true, not everything goes as planned. A Greek tragedy.
I closed the window. Being on the third floor of the apartment block where we lived provides a good view of the surrounding, a lower-middle class residential area just outside the city. A neighborhood formed mainly by buildings from the real estate boom: not very high, cheap and uniform. Although recently the empty lots left by the crisis were being occupied by higher class villas. My mother said that we should be very grateful to the new families, because the business had increased a lot in the fruit shop where she works, which will allow to pay off the debts left by dad.
My room looked directly onto the street, a two-way street that ends on the left in a modest square with a few trees and well-kept flowerbeds, with no exit. In the mornings it's full of old people chatting on the benches, and sometimes playing petanque. In the afternoons, it is the children who occupy the space, lively playing soccer or tag.
It was then that two white vans, the typical movers, appeared at the edge of my vision. Full of stickers and inscriptions indicating the company, which I couldn't distinguish because of the distance and the energetic rain. They turned off the lights and parked right in front of my building, but on the opposite side of the street, where there was a recently built two-story house. The construction bags full of rune were still outside, the entrance was only dirt with some flat stones as a path, and you could see an excavator in the back. They were probably building a swimming pool. In addition, the wall separating the property from the street was yet to be completed. The works had embittered me for three or four months; noise of machinery from early morning until nightfall, dust everywhere...
It wasn't a modern architectural madness; a simple, pleasing building that denoted class. Perhaps my architectural knowledge is primitive, limited to considering "that's nice and that's not". And in this case, I considered that it was cute, for lack of a better word. A square dwelling, painted in a light cream color, with a terrace above it and a skylight covered with some fabrics. The interior was not appreciated, although it is surely very bright thanks to the many windows, covered as well. Gardening work had begun, the small trees that delimit the property indicated it. Cypress trees, or some similar.
Neither the time nor the day seemed normal for a move, something that caught my attention. We've always lived in the same flat, and I haven't helped with other moves, but from what I know of cinema it's something complex that requires time and effort. Physical and mental. It's not something you do on New Year's Eve. I got up without taking my eyes off the vans and took the binoculars from the next shelf. They were a birthday present from Mom.
Sitting down again, this time on my knees to have a better view, I looked at the vans carefully. Three men dressed the same way got out of the first van: navy blue overalls dirty with paint, with what I assumed were worn-out company inscriptions; construction shoes, and a white T-shirt sticking out of the neck. They weren't wearing jackets or raincoats. As soon as they came out, they put on a woolen cap of the same color as the overall, to try and protect their heads from the rain. Completely useless with the storm that was going on.
Those caps made it difficult to distinguish the facial structure or the features of their faces, although I could see a dark moustache on one of them. They rushed to the back of the van and opened the doors, one of them climbing inside and disappearing, while the one with the moustache tried to light a cigarette. He couldn't. Nobody got out of the other van, although I could make out two figures through the windows, both apparently male.
The man who disappeared inside the van emerged with three raincoats, distributing them among his companions and, immediately from the other vehicle a man with a black raincoat and same color hat got out and quickly went to the door of the house, opening it. His posture was impeccable, upright as if he had a broom at his back. He conveyed confidence and character, aristocratic seriousness. I couldn't see his face clearly, only his left profile due to his previous walk to the entrance. The binoculars, although of quality, had limits. And with the addition of rain and poor lighting...
I created the image of a middle-aged man, fifty-something years old, with thick black hair and long sideburns. His face seemed elongated yet proportional, with a pronounced chin as a main feature. The sideburns made further analysis difficult. He was a tall man, at least six feet tall, and limped slightly on his right leg. Probably from a well-to-do family with a high level of education, the typical model of a banker or distinguished businessman.
We loved playing with Mom to create stories about the people we saw; to imagine their work, hobbies, relationships... It was a way to entertain myself during the times I was in the fruit shop. I also spent hours in the back room, sitting in front of the television watching detective series; Poirot, Monk, A Crime Has Been Written... This distraction became a hobby that occupies much of my free time today. I love to analyze everything. I love investigation, I love criminology, I love paying attention to detail. Or at least trying. I mainly analyze heroes (the best in the world in my opinion), although in my notebooks there are other curiosities: from villains -obviously- to people from the neighborhood. Recently I've delved into crime novels, trying to imagine the cases before I have much information, and solve them. I've even created some of my own to share in forums , but I'm not very good at it.
Going back to the action, the man in the raincoat had disappeared behind the door of the house, while the now four porters unloaded the vehicles in a hurry. All kinds of things came out: chairs, shelves, a sofa, two desks, a washing machine, boxes and more boxes... It was obvious that the porters weren't comfortable, completely wet and cold, the shaking of the hands when taking things indicated it. Surely, they would all be sick in a couple of days, but they quickly continued to bring the furniture and so on into the house. Work came first. They almost dropped the dishwasher, but everything was a scare.
It was a daily boring scene, which for some reason caught my interest above the video game. Thinking that I could create a story out of it, or that it would serve to practice my analysis skills, I took a new soft-cover notebook from my desk drawer and wrote down what I saw: what the men looked like -including the one in the hat-, the vans and their license plates, the current and arrival time, the weather, what came out of the vehicles and in what state (wrapped in plastic, in blankets, cardboard or plastic boxes...), everything. I also tried to decipher the inscriptions on the vans, the name of the company. I ended up with "Express Moving", quite suitable for the occasion.
Afterwards, with time I would calmly write down the impression of the scene and the participants. You keep sensations in your mind for longer. Now everything was disorganized and schematic, several pages of erratic graphite. Simple drawings and loose words. It is said, with more or less reason, that a picture is worth a thousand words. I could 've taken the phone out and photographed everything, but that's not what this was about. It was a mental exercise. And physical, because my arm badly hurt.
Ten minutes passed without the workers appearing outside, the storm was still as intense, and my knees were starting to give way. I stood with the binoculars in my hand and waited for something. I hesitated between laughing at having nothing to do but watch new neighbors move in or argue that this was practice for the future. I assumed the delay meant that they were finishing organizing everything inside and that there were no more things to bring, which ended the fun. It was fun to me at least. I'd pay attention again when there was movement, when the light on the vans turned on. So, I started looking at other buildings. Especially the one across the street on the right, on the corner with another street. That's where Mom's co-worker lived.
Looking at the intersection, some lights snuck into the binoculars and briefly dazzled me. I looked away and closed and opened my eyes several times, regaining the vision. A car was turning and preparing to park in front of the movers, closer to the square. The windscreen wipers were working frantically, and it looked like a high-end sedan, although I have zero knowledge of cars.
Out of the vehicle came a man who opened his umbrella so quickly that he could claim a Guinness Record. He now had his back to me, the umbrella covering part of it, although I saw that he was wearing a pair of lead-colored dressing trousers, without showing any socks as is now fashionable. The top was a suit jacket, also in lead color, with what seemed like candy brown lines as a pattern. He advanced to the back door, standing in a military posture between the door and the trunk. He looked like a statue. Gradually the door he now protected with his umbrella opened, until it ap-
"Izuku! Honey! It's time to go! And remember to take the anorak, it's quite cold outside."
I heard mom shouting through the door. I set in motion immediately. I left the binoculars on the same desk, turned off the lamp and walked in the dark to the closet, where I tried to grab the anorak. I couldn't find it, and I don't have much clothes. Stupid, I thought. I turned on the general light and took the anorak.
"Hurry up, we're late! And turn off the light in the hall that I left on, please!"
"I'll be right there!" I shouted. "Ten seconds to check if I have everything!"
With a slap I checked the front pockets of the jeans: cell phone in the right and wallet in the left. The keys go in the right back pocket, but they're in the living room. I'll get them on the way out. I walked around, making sure everything was okay, in relative order. A habit I have before leaving the room, in case there's a surprise room inspection. I don't want any overtime with housework.
I was a bit nervous; feeling the blood running, feeling the excitement in the body and my brain very active going over everything, still distracted by the previous investigation. Thinking about what I saw. Wait, was it an investigation? I don't like leaving things half done, as somebody once said: there's just one way of doing things, the right way. And I didn't finish the new neighbors case.
Still in a frenzy like trance I noticed I had left the blind up, bad idea with the storm. As I hurried to pull it down, I discerned how a female figure was disappearing through the front door of the house, accompanied by the man with the umbrella. A silhouette in tights and a greyish skirt, with dark hair down to half her back. I couldn't see anything else.
With my room closed and the anorak on, I went to the entrance, where my mother was waiting for me with two umbrellas and a bottle of wine. She was comfortably smiling, without forcing. She's been very tired lately, and I haven't helped much at home, so we've had some arguments.
"You haven't turned off the light in the corridor." She said in a tired voice.
"Do we really have to go?" I asked, raising my voice as I ran to close the light. "I feel like staying home and watching a movie."
"You know we've committed; I've bought wine and everything." Mom then brought me the umbrella, outlining a toothy smile. "I'm sure you'll have a good time."
"You have committed, I did not."
She didn't answer. She just shook her head gently in a way that makes you feel bad, with disapproval. I got the message right away. I took the umbrella and went out on the stairs.
The ten-minute walk to the Bakugo house was cold and tense. The rain had calmed down a bit and the temperature was reasonable; I was only cold on the tips of the fingers. My hands are always cold, blood doesn't reach there, or so mom thinks. But no, it was the atmosphere between the two that was cold. Uncomfortable. I had apologized as soon as we were outside, you don't talk to a mother like that, but it wasn't enough. She accepted the apology -followed by the classic "I didn't raise a rude man", but the air was still charged. A long face and a scowl. She was absolutely right, sometimes we don't value people's work enough. And Mom has taken care of me since Dad left eight years ago, facing bank debt and long workdays.
When we arrived, I called the intercom in two quick sets, ringing very faintly. The batteries were starting to wear out. There was a rumble of music coming from inside, the beat of the bass of a song, and the lights were on on both floors. Warm orange lights. Mom turned to face me with a deep sigh.
"Izuku, you always behave well, don't make today an exception. Please."
"I will behave."
"That's how I like it." She said softly, caressing my hair. "Tomorrow we'll go to the cinema to see that hero movie you keep insisting on. Okay?"
"And we can buy popcorn?"
"And cotton candy if you want."
We called again because no one opened, this time for longer. After a few seconds we heard a male voice apologizing honestly for the delay and letting us in. We advanced through the garden path to the entrance of the house, where the father of the family, Masaru, was waiting for us on the porch. He was dressed more elegantly than usual, with his hair gelled back and a red wine tie to match his dark shirt and, surprisingly, he was wearing contact lenses instead of the square glasses I had always seen him in. It was different, a bit mischievous, but it suited him. He looked at least five years younger. Masaru bowed perfectly at a forty-five-degree angle and again vigorously apologized for making us wait outside in the rain.
When he ushered us in, I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that many people. I imagined some relatives and acquaintances of the neighborhood, but not the whole city. The house was a bustle; there were several tables with food, people standing with disposable plates talking, small children running... The music was loud, but it was impossible to understand the lyrics. All you could feel was a tremor in your chest.
"What a staging." I stammered in shock.
"Yes..." He said scratching his neck in embarrassment. "Mitsuki wanted to celebrate it on a big way."
Mom didn't know what to say. Looking at everything wide-eyed.
"You must have had a hard time getting everything ready."
"Not as much as you think. Moving some furniture and little else. Food's ordered."
"Still, we're sorry we couldn't help setting everything up."
She bowed her head in apology, forcing me to do the same and handling him the wine bottle.
"Inko, there was no need."
"It's the least we could do." She formally said. "We'll help you clean up when the party's over."
Masaru tried to reproach her but understood from the look that it was non-negotiable. Normally there isn't so much formality, our families have known each other for a long time, but today there seems to be a certain air of extra respect floating around. Precautionary.
"We will be delighted." He said with a warm smile. "Eat and drink as much as you like. There's a little bit of everything."
"Orange juice?" I quickly asked.
"In the fridge there's a bottle just for you."
"T-Thank you!" I managed to formulate. The fuss in the room was upsetting me, I couldn't even hear my own thoughts. Maybe that's just the way I am, easily agitable, but it was too much. Thinking that I needed to calm down somehow, I excused myself from the conversation saying that I had to go to the bathroom. I decided to go to the second floor, which hopefully would be quieter. Damn social panic. As soon as I set foot on the stairs to the second floor Mom yelled:
"Izuku, some of the kids are on the garden porch! Go greet them if you want to. "
Better not. The goal was to survive to see a new day. And going with those of my relative age supposed that Kacchan was there, which was death. Not physical, or it shouldn't at least, but death of pride and dignity, of shame. I wasn't sure which kids would be at the party, but with one that starts the game of making fun of the "helpless and quirkless Deku" is enough. And Kacchan is here, it's his house, so there's already one. The worst one I know.
After cleaning my face and trying to arrange my hair -to be more presentable, we are all a bit presumptuous-, I thought about the way to go unnoticed. I could stay in the bathroom locked up all night, but with the number of people at the party someone would surely go up to the second floor; and disappearing in a room wasn't a better option, mom would come looking for me sooner or later. And I was quite thirsty and hungry. While devising the perfect plan, someone tried to open the door but realized it was locked.
"Oh. I'm sorry. I'll go find another bathroom." Said a male voice from the other side. It was a low, monotonous voice. No highs or lows, and with throat strength. Very likeable, the typical voice that narrates documentaries.
"NNo, I-I'll be right out!"
Without reply, I quickly washed my hands and went out. Waiting outside was someone with one of the most curious appearances I had ever seen live. It was a boy about the same height as me, not more than five feet tall, but with the head of a bird. A raven to be exact. Plus, he also took the Allan Poe style to new heights. Everything he wore was black, the only thing that stood out in his appearance was his dull yellow beak and his eyes. Located on either side of his head, they stared at me stoically like the lens of a 90s camera, red dot included. I didn't have much time to observe him, or the situation would get quite uncomfortable.
"Aall yours." I said pointing to the bathroom and walking away. Honestly, he was pretty scary. If I met someone looking like that on a dark street, I would pray to all the gods I know not to die. The boy on the other hand, calmly, simply nodded and entered the bathroom.
Thinking about how appetizing a pizza I had seen before downstairs seemed and the refreshingly and cold orange juice, I made my way to the living room, but some voices coming up the stairs paralyzed me.
"We passed that level before, asshole."
"Okay, okay. It was just to check."
"Shh. Look who we have here." Said Kacchan. He paused for a long time as he walked up the last flight of stairs and approached me through the corridor. Intimidatingly, like a tiger hiding in the undergrowth waiting to attack. "I knew I had seen Inko. Hello, Deku."
This was a big no-no.
"Why are you shaking if I haven't said anything?" He asked with fatigue, like writing dots at the end of a sentence. Was I shaking?. "Doesn't matter. Are you having fun, Deku?"
"Yyes. It-it's aan incredible party."
I was motionless and like Kacchan said, slightly shaky. Hopefully an adult would come up to the bathroom, which would give me a chance to escape from here.
"I know. Do you want to come play in my room for a while, Deku?"
"Oh, no, no. I was, uh, going tto get someething t-to, to eat. B-because I'm hungry. Whenn you a-are hungry, you eat."
"Isn't it a bit disrespectful to turn down an invitation like this, from the party host, too." One of Katsuki's followers said from behind; a chubby boy who was always with him. That is all he does, accompany Bakugo and repeat what he says, inquire into the subject. I hated him.
I looked at the group, seven if the quick calculation was accurate. I was too worried looking at how interesting the floor was. I swear it's always the same, it's bad to stand up, not to stand up too. How could I escape this situation? I took a deep breath, trying to relax; calming down and trying to focus. Now I could hear my own pulse, a boom-boom in the depths of my inner ear.
"Tthhat's ve-very thoughtful. Very. But I'm hungry. Bbesiides, I'll be a nuisance."
"No, you won't be a nuisance at all. You're not that. Right, guys?" Said another boy from Kacchan's entourage, making the others nod. All looking expectantly. I had a personal struggle between the submission of looking at the ground and the tension of holding the stares.
"Exactly. We'll have fun, Deku."
"I-I'm sure we will. But liike I-I said, I'm hungry, and you've prepared a meal that looks really good, and I don't want to leave without trying it, and there's orange juice in the fridge and my mom's waiting for me downstairs, and I was talking to your dad, you know, and he looks really good in this new style, and I still have to say hi to your mom and thank her and-"
I couldn't' finish, a series of loud but controlled explosions produced from his hand silenced me. Damn his quirk. I started to back off little by little. Kacchan on the other hand was moving forward, producing more explosions. We were now watching each other closely, analyzing the movements. He had that horrifying look; like the gambler who claims that this is his last game, or like a compulsive eater with the last bag of chips. I moved a little bit past the bathroom door, Bakugo two steps away.
"You never know when to shut up, Deku."
"Neither you to control yourself."
And there goes my life.
"You, l-"
The bathroom door opened like a video game: with an abrupt movement inward that neither of us expected. The raven boy from earlier -if you can call him that- took a step and stood right under the doorway, noticing our situation (or whatever he imagined), while still drying his hands on the sides of his jeans, seemingly undisturbed. I'd completely forgotten he was there. The boy watched us turning his head from side to side, briefly looking at each of us and Katsuki's companions; interested, but not really into it. Bakugo stood an arm's length away from my face, the door and the raven boy just between us. The color had crept up on Kacchan's face, now a traffic light red, and he looked really angry. He was really angry. I think he always is.
"Am I interrupting something important?"
"Get out of here, extra."
"Darkness doesn't treat rude people well."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Bakugo turned to look at his companions, insultingly pointing at the boy and laughing. He said something but I didn't hear it well. "You and that darkness can suck my balls."
"That's... not very nice."
"Neither is what I'm going to do to you."
"Are you angry because your parents didn't buy you the doll you wanted, or is this sexual frustration, or...?"
I laughed. Not especially loud, but enough for everyone to look at me. Luckily, I wasn't considered important, so Kacchan and the stranger faced each other again. Close enough to hit and dodge blows. If this scene had a soundtrack, it would be a boiling kettle, with the intensity and the highs rising.
"I don't know you and you're pissing me off, who the hell are you supposed to be?"
"No one. I am nobody. Nobody's here. "
"That's very funny. You're either getting out of my house right now, or I'm kicking you out."
"We-"
"There you are!" Said Kacchan's mother from the stairs, tall and proud with her hands on her hips, staring at her son. "Move your ass down and help me hand out some things."
"We were going to play in my bedroom."
"I don't care. Everybody downstairs."
There was no reaction, no one wanted to get in the middle of a family argument. No one knew what to do.
"Now!"
The response wasn't automatic, but it was unanimous. The group of the corridor descended in a procession, following Katsuki who was first as he finished arguing with his mother. At the top of his lungs, screaming. A family classic. I finally took a breath, a deep breath. They say it's good to do it once a day; and I had exhausted a whole week of repetitions today.
I stood still, going down could wait until I calmed down. The stranger in the bathroom had also stayed, and he was just as unaltered and unexpressed as before. He just looked at me.
"Tokoyami Fumikage." He introduced himself formally, bowing briefly.
"Midoriya Izuku."
"I hope I didn't get you in any trouble, but that boy's a dick. I've heard it all from the bathroom."
"Ooh. No, no. No. None of that. Th-thank you for saving me." I said with laughter, bowing again. Scratching my hair I tried think of the variables of the conversation, tried to imagine how it would play out. The situation was uncomfortable for me. Well, most situations with strangers are, but this one is more than usual. "Kacchan is, uh... difficult."
"A dick. Don't mince words."
"He, he hasn't always been like that."
"Which means absolutely nothing."
"Yeah, well..." This was hard. "And how come you're at this party?"
"My father knows the organizer of this, Masaru I think, and he thought that accepting the invitation to the party would be good for the relationship between companies."
"What does your father do?"
"He has an office supply distribution business" He paused briefly, the kind you use to try and control what you say; thinking about the reaction of the speaker. "Would you like to go and get something to eat downstairs?"
I liked him. Maybe it was the inexpressive appearance that draw me, or the naturalness of his speech. Or maybe it was my imagination and I just easily trust people, but he seemed like a serious and nice guy. Someone respectful who wouldn't laugh at me and my shortcomings to my face. It was only a first impression, but he had gotten me out of a tight spot. I owed him something.
Nodding, I bowed as a hotel doorman showing him the way, which made him giggle in a way that surprised me. I didn't expect the sound to be so similar to the sound crows make in movies.
"Have you two known each other for a long time?"
"Who?"
"Blondie and you."
"Ah, Kacchan." I said with acknowledgment. We'd sat in a corner of the room where there were some rather uncomfortable wooden folding chairs. We were both enjoying the refreshing orange juice, and we had view of the party scene, which was beginning to get quite lively. It was a little over an hour before twelve o'clock, and some adults showed the typical behavior of the one who is not drunk but is two beers away from taking off its shirt and dancing "La Macarena". We'd eaten standing up, going around the tables trying all the dishes. Luckily, none of the kids from Kacchan's group had bothered us, they were busy distributing drinks and helping Mitsuki, although there were occasional glance exchanges.
I was surprised by Tokoyami's normal eating habits, I expected a more animal-like behavior. I even noticed that he had teeth inside his beak, human teeth, which was a little weird. We didn't talk much, just enough to discuss which dishes were better and the typical cordiality, apart from having to say hello to a couple of acquaintances.
"It's ok if you don't feel like talking."
"No, no. Just a long story."
"Take your time."
"The q-quick version oor the endless one?"
"Surprise me."
"We became very close as kids, then he developed his quirk and I didn't..." I slowly said, trying to remember and simplify at the same time. "And, I guess for him it meant that the promise we made to be heroes together wouldn't be possible. And that's when it all started, sort of."
There was a long pause, but it wasn't uncomfortable. In the background I heard what sounded like the beginning of the Beatles' song Help! That opening is impossible not to recognize.
"I'm sorry."
"W-why?"
"That you can't be a hero."
"Yeah w-well, call me crazy, bbut I'm still willing to try."
There was no response, although I think he looked at me for the first time differently than the stoicism he had maintained until now. It was difficult to understand his emotions; his facial expressions were limited, and his eyes conveyed as much character as a led. Everything that indicates a person's feelings didn't exist on his face. There were no wrinkles on the forehead, no specific movements of the mouth, no furrows on the cheeks. His body language was what you expected from his character, serious but not rock-like. Presence, without hoarding.
Which didn't mean that there was a total lack of emotion in his actions; he had a habit of waiting for the answer with his head slightly tilted, and his eyes had opened more than usual when he saw apple slices on the table. And it was obvious that he liked the color black and everything you want to relate to it; from music –he occasionally set the beat with his foot of the songs that were playing in the background- to how he had chosen the darkest corner of the room. Analyzing Tokoyami was fun.
"Interesting."
"Y-You think so?"
"Other than the fact that you're nuts, I've never met somebody who's quirkless."
"We're pretty special." I said with a smile.
"You know, I want to be a hero too." He stopped, staring at the juice as if the phrase he was looking for would come from it. "One who inspires terror in the villains."
"That won't be difficult. If I were a villain and found you in the night, I would run away crying for mommy. Seriously, what's with all the black?"
I hoped I hadn't offended him, and fortunately that was not the case, for he laughed again making that weird raven sound, which amused me. I was getting more and more comfortable with him; it was an interesting and pleasant conversation. The first one in a very long time. As you can tell I'm not a social butterfly.
"You're not the first one to tell me."
"A-and w-what's your quirk, if I may ask?"
From the inside of the black sweatshirt, through the neck, a floating shadow quickly appeared that extended to stand right in front of me. It was a dark mass with the appearance of Tokoyami, his facial countenance, although more animalistic. It was not exactly smoke; it was more like a kind of solid energy -if that makes sense-. Similar to a tesla coil but forming an endless black clump. The most striking thing about its appearance was the eyes, which were bright yellow. All I could think of was the image of Pikachu's cheeks bursting with energy. The last thing I noticed was that everything was still connected to Tokoyami's body by a thread of the same energy, or whatever it was.
I reached out to touch the beak, but the mass receded nimbly, floating a few steps beyond where I sat.
"Hey, hey! Ask for consent first!"
It had spoken. The thing had spoken.
"I-I-I, uuhhmmm, I'm sorry?"
I was hesitating between apologizing to whatever was in front of me or to Tokoyami. So, turning my head energetically I apologized repeatedly to both of them, bowing in between. The night was getting weirder and weirder.
"It's all right." Tokoyami said with a chuckle. "This is Dark Shadow. It's very complicated to explain everything, but basically, it's an extension of me, and he does everything."
"Unbelievable."
"Thank you, that's very kind." Spoke the entity now known as Dark Shadow. "But I still won't let you touch me."
Then, Dark Shadow disappeared completely under Tokoyami's sweatshirt, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.
"It's better not to show the quirks in public. Besides, with a lot of darkness he's hard to control."
"You don't let me have fun, which is different." We heard Dark Shadow shout under the clothes.
"I-I understand."
I was equally hallucinated and nervous. But they were good nerves, the ones you feel when you know the answer to a test question. And I had so many questions. And I was also angry at myself for not bringing the notebook and being able to write all this down immediately. Tokoyami was a very interesting boy. Incredibly interesting. Outside of looks and personality, he had a seemingly very powerful quirk. How do they communicate? Where does it come from? What's the range of Dark Shadow? Is there a time limit? Can he be completely independent? How strong is he in the dark?
Tokoyami sensed my interest, and invited me to ask whatever I wanted, we still had time until twelve. Besides, he seemed very happy to be able to talk about these things. I had made a friend.
It was barely ten minutes to twelve, and Tokoyami and I had been chatting non-stop about his quirk; heroes, villains, schools, ideas, ideals... It was the nicest night in a long time, someone to talk one on one, with respect but without holding back.
It was during a discussion about the abilities of the third best hero, Hawks, that Mitsuki interrupted us to give us two cotillion bags, each with a variety of things: balloons, streamers, plastic trumpets, a plastic hat, a pair of masks and a wig. She also told us that there were glasses of champagne on the table, accompanied by a wink.
"Put the wig on. It'll look good on you."
"Only if you wear that hat." I said pointing to a bright pink plastic hat filled with glitter from a table in front of us. The one he had was coincidentally black.
"Deal."
With that I put on the wig from my bag, which was as horrible as expected. A wig with golden blonde hair that went all the way down my neck. It wasn't easy to put on, my hair stood out everywhere, especially on my forehead, where the bright yellow contrasted terrifyingly with the black and green of my natural hair. Besides, I hadn't worn the wig for more than five seconds and all my body was starting to itch. And that synthetic smell, it smelled like so many chemicals that I might die just from touching it.
"It looks really good on you."
"Y-you think so?"
"Yeah." Tokoyami said with a chuckle. "I'm sure."
"You're laughing."
"No, no. No." He tried to continue, laughter less and less concealed. "You are going to succeed tonight, Casanova."
"Idiot."
Going with the Californian surfer wig, Tokoyami gave me a black plastic mask with a distant resemblance to the one worn by "El Zorro", and a Hawaiian necklace. It was a combination that hurt the eyes, though it seemed to amuse him. I tried to make him wear an outfit just as hideous, but it was impossible to put a mask on him, and the same went with the pink hat. He was only wearing the Hawaiian necklace.
We heard Mitsuki yell for everyone to prepare, that there were only two minutes left till new year. The television was now set at full volume, and the speakers in the room played the sound of the presenters of the program that, after a long discussion, had been decided upon. That woman has the lungs of an opera singer.
The room was now only lit by a pair of floor lamps because the general lights had been switched off to give that cozy feeling, and hardly anyone was talking. Everyone was watching the television with a plastic champagne glass in one hand, and in the other the family or friends with whom they were sharing the moment.
I said goodbye to Tokoyami, I had to look for my mother, and he had to do the same with his parents. But we agreed to meet later to continue talking, there was a discussion about Hawks to finish. And I was really happy because we exchanged phone numbers.
With a newly glass of champagne I went to search for my mother, who was leaning against a wall near the entrance to the house. She was cheerful, or at least she looked that way, energy-wise. From this part of the room we had a distant view of the television -located at the other side of the room- and the large group of people gathered in front of it. Maybe Mom also wanted some tranquility, difficult with all the enthusiasmin the room.
As for the champagne, I didn't like gas, but for one day you can make an exception. And the same goes for alcohol, you have to try everything.
"I see you've made a friend."
"Yes. He's very nice." I said, resting next to her on the wall. "You were right."
"About?"
"That I'd have a good time."
"We mothers are a bit witch. "
The room suddenly exploded in screams with the ten seconds, shouting the start of the countdown. We stood up completely and took a few steps forward, to be closer to all those gathered. 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. For me it was just a number that marked how close I was to the decision of my own future. But those are my thoughts.
I hugged mom tightly and we stayed that way for a few long seconds, in the moment. The room was an absolute mess, although it was nice to see so much joy. Streamers flying everywhere, trumpets blowing over the congratulations... A funny deafening noise.
"One quick question, where did this costume come from?"
"Here and there. Tokoyami challenged me to wear a wig, and well… " I said, spinning around and showing off the outfit."
"Maybe you should dye your hair blond, it doesn't look bad at all."
"Please try to say that without laughing."
She hugged me again, this time taking me by surprise. She touched my wig a little, fitting it perfectly.
"I'm going to congratulate Mitsuki and company first." Said mom, leaving the empty champagne glass on a nearby table. "You should do the same."
"I will."
"And remember that we're staying till late to help clean up."
I watched as mom headed for the crowd and disappeared, leaving me alone with my champagne glass. I had taken a couple of sips, but it was horrible. Gas, and an unpleasant bitter taste... How can people drink this? I was immediately planning to go and congratulate the New Year to the acquaintances at the party, I just needed a moment to prepare myself; to think of the phrases to seem as formal as possible, and also to be quick so as not to lengthen the conversations uncomfortably. Mom knew that.
Just as I was about to take the first step, a strong hand grabbed me by the neck, squeezing it very tightly. I shouted something incomprehensible, but no one at the party seemed to notice. The person who had grabbed my neck made me to look at the floor, while forcing me to move towards the door of the house, just five meters away. I was shouting "ah" and "ouch", trying to grab the arm that was holding me so tightly, but I couldn't reach it. I was resisting as much as I could, but the attacker was very strong, and was hurting me. It was impossible for me to turn around or do anything else but move forward. How didn't I notice?
The person opened the door and shoved me out, finally freeing my neck. I fell to the ground past the porch of the house, in the rain, which was falling heavily again. I had stopped the hit with my hands, so the first thing I did was check if I had scratched them too much. They were fine, but they would hurt for a few days, just like my neck. The wig was still amazingly intact on my head, Mom had put it on very well. The mask was also in place, but the necklace was sadly broken. I liked the colors. Focus, Izuku.
I shook my head slightly and looked at the door of the house. There was Katsuki, all alone. He had closed the door and was staring at me intently. I stood as calmly as I could, trying to convey submission. Better not to anger an enraged animal.
This was perhaps the first time that violence had escalated so much; there had always been insults, shoving, burning some of my things... But now it seemed different, something personal. I guess I was paying for Tokoyami's daring.
"Don't think I've forgotten about earlier."
"He-Heyy Kacchan, I'm, I'm vvery sorry iif I've made you look bad."
"No, we're going to solve our problems now."
"Bbu-but III have no pprroblems with you."
It wasn't true. But I'm a diplomat by nature, I try to dialogue as a first resource. You can get out of most situations with cunning and grammatical juggling. Submission usually helps, too. And I was doing everything.
"I do." He said, stepping forward and out of the porch, now in the rain. "You still want to steal the limelight from me."
"W-What limelight?"
"Don't play dumb, I heard your conversation with that stupid bird. A hero... you're quirkless, asshole."
"But, whee-wheere's the haarm in trying!"
"Face reality for fuck's sake. You're a loser, you're nothing."
"It's my dream, I can try it."
"You can't do anything." He said surprisingly in a soft tone, which I think was worse. "If you want to be a hero so badly, try throwing yourself off a roof; maybe you are luckier in the next life."
Idiot. Anger. Bitterness. Cold. I couldn't believe Kacchan had said that. Our relationship is difficult, I know, but I admire Kacchan infinitely for a reason beyond myself, which I don't even know if I can explain. He's a light that shines in front of everyone, and I usually just roll with the things he does, bear them. But it was becoming more and more difficult.
And within this tension that we have, I have always defended myself, and at the end of the day I know Kacchan's way of thinking. It's just a facet that he will overcome, he aspires to be the best hero; the best at everything he does. But "the best" don't do this.
And now…
Words have consequences. If I were to kill myself it wouldn't be hard to accuse him of suicide inducement, you don't have to be a genius to know that. And I knew this was bullying, I've always known it, but I let myself think that everything will get better. It always does, sooner or later. But isn't this what they we learn? That's why this is a Greek tragedy. Right? Focus, Izuku.
"Have you gone mute?"
We were soaking wet, and the sound of the rain was beginning to heavily pester me. I tried to focus, but I couldn't think. I couldn't hear myself. Kacchan began to produce explosions from the palm of his hands threateningly, and he was again advancing. Why wasn't he already hitting me? Work comes first. Idiot.
I hated it. I was shivering, cold and scared. This was all too much. And I acted.
I ran at full speed, as fast as my legs could. I was sure Kacchan wouldn't expect it, I had never run away, I had always faced him one way or another. I stumbly stepped out into the street and ran in any direction.
It was difficult to run in the rain, it hit the mask and forced me to close my eyes, but I didn't want to waste time by taking it off, so I just ran.
I didn't notice exactly where I was going. I could only make out the lights and a vague shape of things. I'm not very fast, but when you run with all your might you get into this kind of trance where you have tunnel vision and everything moves a lot and all your body hurts, but you keep going until you get where you want. I was tempted to look back, but I didn't want to know if Kacchan was following me. It didn't matter, I wouldn't stop until I passed out. And I didn't know why, it wasn't very rational, but that's what I thought at the time.
I stayed like that for a few minutes, running, listening to my heavy breathing and the steps I took on the asphalt, each one hurting more than the last; my knees were really suffering. Every contact with the ground produced an echo in my bones.
I reached what seemed to be a main street, slowing down as we were taught in physical education, taking shorter and shorter steps until stopping. I was very shaken, and I had no idea where I was. Was there a need to keep running? Where was I running to? Was this my big Hollywood act, or the first part of the tragedy? Focus, Izuku.
Seeing a sign that indicated that there was a supermarket on the next street on the right, I decided that this was a good place to rest and calmly think. Thinking solves everything. And, after all, I had my wallet; my cell phone -if it had survived all that movement and the water-, and... Damn! I'd left my keys at home. Stupid, I'd thought about taking them but I didn't. Doesn't matter, I needed to take shelter. Focus, Izuku.
I quickly walked the hundred and fifty meters to the corner, and just as I turned something or someone hit me, and I fell to the ground.
- First chapter finished. Hope you liked it or, at least, were entertained by it in these rare times.
Thank you,
JayTzar out.
