❝ honestly, i thought i would be dead by now. ❞
(l/n) (y/n) is a contradiction. she's strong, yet stoical. powerful, yet subtle. insistent, yet quiet. awkward, yet charming. maybe that's why a lot of people got their attention on her.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤcom...
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Nighttime came as protective black, made ever more enchanting by the starlight. The soft, faint glow coming from the lightbulb in the communal kitchen was the only thing that illuminated his surroundings.
Kirishima sat at one of the chairs in front of the table, his own hands in his line of sighy as he started to mindlessly look at himself.
It was almost 4:00 AM and he couldn't get a wink of sleep. Thoughts were swarming his mind like a plague and the confinements of his room suddenly became suffocating.
When Kirishima was five years old, he had stared in the mirror and practiced his poses so that they matched those of his hero— Crimson Riot. Fists bumps and charming smiles directed at his own reflection. He was just like his hero.
At eleven years old, Kirishima used his childhood mirror, still decorated in red and black stickers, to scrutinize his body. Stretch marks ran all along his shoulders and on his belly, that was too big to be that of a hero’s. The worst of it was his hair. Black and long, covering the scarred parts of his face.
Then a few years later, at fourteen, Kirishima ran his fingers through his newly colored hair until the spikes formed so that they resembled the peaks of mountains. With careful fingers, he tugged at the hair.
Now, Kirishima found himself criticizing his whole being a lot. After class, he would stretch the skin of his face revealing his dark circles. When he finished using his personal dumbbells, he would flex his muscles, watching as they bulged.
His arms had faint scars running all along the tan skin. With his index finger he found a scar and gently pressed on it. It stung, but he continued to trace them. The skin was calloused and cracked where the hardening would usually take place.
"What are you doing?"
The red head immediately turned his attention to the doorway because of the sudden voice, only to meet eyes with a certain (H/C) haired girl.
"Hey..." He greeted meekly. "What are you doing up so late?"
"Can't sleep." She replied quietly and shortly. Her dull eyes were slightly hooded and her hand was placed against the doorframe. She raised an eyebrow as she walked further in to the room. "What about you?"
"Uhm..." Kirishima mumbled unsurely, his gaze going back to his arms, flustered and a bit uncomfortable that he was caught at a bad state. "Sorry, uh, just thinking."
"Really..." (Y/N) quietly said as moved around the kitchen. Inevitable sounds of cabinets opening and closing and clangs of metallic utensils echoing through out the once quiet room. "What about?"
He fiddled with his fingers, seemingly nervous. "You know— Just..." A heavy sigh came out of his lips and after a few seconds of silence he spoke again. "...When I was younger, I used to pose in the mirror to copy Crimson Riot," Kirishima started. "He was my idol, obviously. I loved him. Then, in middle school, I started gaining weight and stretch marks and, uh, scars. So many scars."
