Chapter Text
Maybe he’d done something wrong that day, Shouyou thought as the bus rode on, jostling him from side to side every so often when there was a bump in the road. Maybe he hadn’t jumped high enough, or run fast enough or… maybe he just hadn’t been good enough. Maybe that was why. The old lady sitting next to him coughed loudly and Shouyou suddenly found himself feeling claustrophobic. Everyone around him looked as miserable as he felt and he wondered distantly why the middle aged man in the grey suit kept fiddling with his fingers like he was missing something. Everyone on the evening bus back from town seemed to be missing something.
He got off three stops away from his house and stepped into the cool air of the early evening hoping that it might help clear his head. His skin was immediately covered in goosebumps. It was overcast, horribly grey but the weather showed no signs that it would actually rain. The air felt stale, hard to breathe in. He looked out at the dry grass and dying trees and wondered if life really was just cruel for the sake of being cruel. He’d spent far too long dwelling on the past, wondering what he could have – should have – done differently. There was nothing in the past but bitter disappointment. He knew that. And yet…
It seemed so much more painful to live in the present.
“I’m home!” He called, taking off his shoes and heading to the kitchen to pack the groceries away. The heavier plastic bags had left red indents on his arms and he rubbed at the marks absently in between packing items away.
“How was work?” His mother asked, looking up from what she was cooking briefly to acknowledge him. It smelled great. He wished he was hungry.
“Same as always.” He mumbled, wanting nothing more than to rid himself of the itchy, red uniform shirt he was wearing.
His mother looked up again, giving him a soft, sympathetic smile. He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that. Like she knew what was going on inside his head.
“Why don’t you go change, huh? Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” He nodded and shuffled off, feeling a familiar cold defeat settle between his shoulder blades and weigh down his every step.
There was a brief silence, then, “Why don’t you call Kenma, Shouyou? I’m sure he’d like to know what you’re up to these days.” She called after him.
Shouyou sighed.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” He said, when he was sure his mother couldn’t hear him anymore.
He closed his bedroom door behind him and fell heavily against it, letting himself slide to the floor. He wished his mother would just let it go. There was a reason Kenma didn’t come around anymore, just like there was a reason Shouyou hated waking up every morning. Because Shouyou was a failure, but his mother didn’t need to know that.
He pulled his shirt off and threw it on the floor, cursing the tears that pricked his eyes. So life hadn’t gone the way he’d imagined it would - it rarely does. There was no reason to cry about it. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
From: Kenma
I’m sorry.
That was the third one that day.
Shouyou felt something in himself break then. Like he’d been held together by a thin string that had suddenly snapped. Somewhere in the distance he heard someone playing an off-tune piano.
“Goddammit!” He let his phone fall to the floor and buried his face in his knees, letting his frustrations drown him at last. I’m sorry, it had said. Like it was Kenma’s fault. Like he felt somehow responsible for Shouyou’s own failures.
“God fucking dammit…” He cried into his knees, feeling his chest tighten until he was sure he shouldn’t be able to breathe. But he was. He was still breathing. And he felt like he was paying for it.
“Shouyou? Shouyou, are you alright?” His mother called from the kitchen, shortly before he heard her soft footsteps heading towards his room. He sniffed and wiped at his eyes furiously.
“Y-yeah! I’m fine! Just…” He paused, “Stubbed my toe.” The footsteps stopped right outside his door.
“Are you sure?” She asked, hesitant. He knew she didn’t believe him, but he also knew she wouldn’t ask.
“Yes, mom. I’m just fine.” He lied. He felt like his life was crashing down around him – he was anything but fine. But she didn’t need to know that. No-one did.
He heard her sigh and start to walk away.
“Mom?”
“Yes?” He hated how hopeful she sounded.
“I’m not really hungry, so I think I’ll just go to bed now.” He could practically hear the sad smile on her face. He hadn’t eaten yesterday either.
“Okay, Shouyou. Goodnight.”
“Thanks. Night, mom.”
He heard Natsu come home about an hour later.
“Hey, mom.”
“Shh, Shouyou’s asleep.” A pause.
“Again?” No reply. “Mom…”
“No, no. I’m fine, Natsu, really.” Her voice broke. She was crying.
“It’s not your fault, mom. Okay?” No reply. “Okay? I promise.”
“I just… I feel like I’ve failed him, Natsu. I feel like I’ve failed as his mother.”
“Mom…”
The piano playing still hadn't stopped. He stopped listening after that.
“Shouyou?” Natsu closed his door behind her. He didn’t answer her. She already knew he was awake. “What happened?”
“How’s mom?” He asked instead. Natsu didn’t need to know either. She sighed and sat down at the end of his bed.
“Worried about you, as always.” He didn’t say anything. “I put her to bed half an hour ago. She’s exhausted.”
“I’m sure she is.”
“What happened, Shouyou?” A pause and a shaky breath.
“You know what happened.”
“And you know what I meant.” He shifted to look at the ceiling.
“Don’t tell mom.” Natsu bit her lip.
“She’s worried Shouyou. You’ll have to talk to her some time.”
“Please, Natsu.” She sighed but nodded anyway.
“Alright.” He avoided her eyes, looking down at his hands as he spoke.
“Two weeks ago, Kenma… he, uh…” His throat tightened around the words.
Shou… I-I can’t do this anymore. I… I’m sorry.
“Oh.”
“… Yeah.” She ran her fingers through her messy, orange hair.
“I’m really sorry, Shou.”
“No. No, it’s… it’s alright. It was for the best, really. I don’t blame him.”
“That doesn’t mean it hurts less, Shou. It’s okay to hurt sometimes.” He shifted over and she lay down next to him. He covered his eyes with his arm.
“You’re more of a grownup than I am, sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” She laughed. The piano finally stopped playing.