[Wrong words, a pause accompanied by his new sense of shock. His hearing disgust chills his heart; its audible aftermath a bomb and found in the ash of his voice. He's found the wrong thing to say, stumbled stupidly and naive through his clumsy, human thing to do. His eyes drift up, only to find the seed-young starts of some visible thing he can't explain; and its intangible something grips him where he's tensed at his throat. He bites his lip, sharp eyes lifting from his lap to his face, then finds the floor. Hand still bound, while he waits for its magics to gently fade from existence.
And where else should he go?]
Do you really... hate it that much...?
[Asking the wall. Flickering gaze against the white, to Katsuki's face, and back and forth-]
I thought it was true, since you're friends-
[Crowding the silence; lab-animal's understanding and childish logic in one. Friends were new—its concept recognized just in his last few years. Less than 1, subtracting the 4 he's lived from his past couple "lives". His grasping at people—their hearts. How love was a swordsman, a knight, the girl with her missing left hand, the boy with bruises the color of dirt and sun in his too-freckled face. And Shoto cannot comprehend this shift. Bonds were a lucky, golden-radiant thread; and still he wonders "if friends kiss friends"; wonders if Katsuki's maybe the one who Midoriya too-shyly asked about; and panic rises in the walls of his chest.
His heart feels choked, and fishes his memories seeking the "right" thing to say:]
no subject
[Wrong words, a pause accompanied by his new sense of shock. His hearing disgust chills his heart; its audible aftermath a bomb and found in the ash of his voice. He's found the wrong thing to say, stumbled stupidly and naive through his clumsy, human thing to do. His eyes drift up, only to find the seed-young starts of some visible thing he can't explain; and its intangible something grips him where he's tensed at his throat. He bites his lip, sharp eyes lifting from his lap to his face, then finds the floor. Hand still bound, while he waits for its magics to gently fade from existence.
And where else should he go?]
Do you really... hate it that much...?
[Asking the wall. Flickering gaze against the white, to Katsuki's face, and back and forth-]
I thought it was true, since you're friends-
[Crowding the silence; lab-animal's understanding and childish logic in one. Friends were new—its concept recognized just in his last few years. Less than 1, subtracting the 4 he's lived from his past couple "lives". His grasping at people—their hearts. How love was a swordsman, a knight, the girl with her missing left hand, the boy with bruises the color of dirt and sun in his too-freckled face. And Shoto cannot comprehend this shift. Bonds were a lucky, golden-radiant thread; and still he wonders "if friends kiss friends"; wonders if Katsuki's maybe the one who Midoriya too-shyly asked about; and panic rises in the walls of his chest.
His heart feels choked, and fishes his memories seeking the "right" thing to say:]
You're not that "you", though, I think...
[Lost, dumb boy.]
I wasn't sure.