seeps beneath the skin // my hero academia

a million years

pre-story author's note

heyo! so here's chapter two. quick warning: there will be minor manga references in this chapter. but if you're an anime-only, don't worry about getting spoiled! i promise it's something you won't understand unless you read the manga yourself. however, the rest of this fic may have major spoilers. but not any time soon. just letting you know!

i've realized halfway through the process of writing this that i'm creating another form of mha angst so i can avoid reading the rest of the tabs i have open on ao3. i'm literally writing angst to avoid reading it. isn't that funny?

it's sort of hard to write a fifteen-year-old trapped in a four-year-old body, but who am i to complain? i did this to myself. at least its good excersize. i just find it funny how i'm sitting here thinking; how the heck do i pretend to be four years old after experiencing the horrors of war, young adolescence, and multiple accounts of regret and trauma? more importantly, how would katsuki do it?

with that said, i hope you enjoy this chapter. i hope it isn't too sucky!

-xuxi♡

-

now

Breakfast managed to be the weirdest situation Katsuki had ever found himself in.

First of all, he still sat in a chair booster. Sitting in it, he felt so small. And yes, he was small, but Katsuki imagined how Kirishima would react to him sitting in a chair booster at fifteen years old and... He felt really embarrassed. (He'd never admit to embarrassment out loud, of course.)

Once he actually sat down in it, he began his patient wait for his parents in the kitchen.

One thing Katsuki grew up with, was the way his parents had made meals together. During breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if they weren't eating out, the two would cook together in the kitchen. Sometimes Katsuki would sit on the counter and watch, and as he grew older, he also grew more involved. At five, he was allowed to stir ingredients. At six, he was allowed to prepare them. At seven, he held a knife for the first time. So on, and so on. By ten years old, he could cook his own curry without any assistance.

It was this tradition that shaped Katsuki into the cook he was- and quite a talented one at that. However, once he grew into his teenage years, the occasions grew more sparse and something done only on holidays. And although he and his mom got into shouting matches more often than not, Katsuki never denied that they had been the highlights of his years.

He wouldn't ever forget cooking for his class during the war, though. Katsuki could never comfort- But somehow, his food could. His mother's recipe was something he held close to his heart, amongst many other things.

The odd thing about today however, was the fact that his parents had told him to stay put at the dining table instead. Normally, Katsuki would have protested, but much to the shock of his parents, he obliged without fuss. He even climbed into the chair himself.

Now here he was, sitting at the table, absentmindedly tapping his fingers. An All Might figure laid cast aside on the table, and four-year-old Katsuki would have normally played with it. But he couldn't bring himself to pick it up. After witnessing All Might's death himself, he'd really rather not.

To him, All Might's death was his fault. It had always been. It was just another death on his hands. First, Izuku. Then, the man Izuku looked up to (and Katsuki himself as well) the most. Seeing the figurine brought back memories of his childhood long lost with time, buried with the ruins of his home, and the graves of the people he loved most.