The Fault In Our Sound {MHA}

(12) Frigid Distance

His whole form deflated a bit as he realized there was nothing he could've done to prevent it. His eyes blinked rapidly and he sort of jerkily turned to look down the hallway. When he looked back at me, I could once again see his engineering mind hard at work. Surely as he was being harassed by the ghosts on top of his own thoughts.

"Can I get you anything?" He finally asked. I shrugged, not feeling up for food at a time like this. His eyes got that far-off look that led me to believe the ghosts were advising him again. "Breakfast."

He seemed to already be juggling a conversation, so I wasn't offended when he began walking towards the large staircase. I followed after him, managing to eat a few crackers we had bought last night and sip on some water. As much as he offered, I couldn't stand the smell of eggs he was cooking. It was still too early that the nausea hadn't faded.

I decided against staying for too long. I could confirm to Rose that I had stayed the whole night, facing my fear. Which, to my astonishment, I had forgotten about long enough last night that I had fallen asleep easily. Though I didn't know whether to attribute that to my calmness or my exhaustion from previous nights' pranks that kept me up for days.

"Bye, Mordecai," I signed, using the gesture he had shown me before, gently tapping my closed fists together, then the base of my palms, then my right knuckles on my left palm, signifying the three syllables.

I waved and descended his front steps, realizing I had to move fast if I was going to catch the next train. Even with my luggage for winter break, I didn't let it slow me down as I rushed down his driveway.

On the train, I pulled out my phone and apologized for my scene that morning.

Rocket: It's okay. Are you feeling any better?

Me: A little fresh air helps

Me: It's annoying, but I've learned to deal

I wasn't about to make the conversation about me though, so I decided to ask him what his plans were over the break. Our chat switched from topic to topic many times. I was so focused on replying that I nearly missed my stop. When I got home and unpacked sufficiently, I returned to my phone to pick up right where we left off.

Me: I just think you'd really like him

Rocket: I just looked him up, and I'm not sure about that

Rocket: That's a lot of glitter

He had attached a picture of the singer in a bedazzled baseball uniform, and I smiled to myself.

Me: That says nothing about his personality or his music

I began to type, "One these days, I'll play--" but I stopped myself. I couldn't be expected to miraculously make him hear music again. I created a small node of sound in front of me, holding my hand out to touch it. The vibrations pulsed against my hand in time with the Elton John song. I made a promise to myself that I'd get him to at least feel the music.

I knew not a lot of people were like me. Not everyone could hear every song in perfect clarity in their minds. Not everyone breathed music like it gave them life. But that might have been the very reason I was sure I could try. Music flowed through my veins and, with a Quirk like mine, I realized that I could make others feel the same way.

Me: I have an idea

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

But I didn't get to ever execute said idea. Winter break passed in a flurry of activity. I was always doing something with my uncle or with Reina and her family. Other than the brief get-together his Support Course friends threw for him on his birthday, I didn't get to see Rocket at all.