The Universe Listened | Kiribaku

A lifeless face that you'll soon forget

"She's right," Kirishima said.

A nod. "I'm right." She smiled and grabbed Kirishima's elbow to guide him down the hallway. "How're you holding up?"

"Holding up?"

"The competition, dumbass. It's right around the corner," she said.

Oh fuck. Mina was right. Again. It was soon. Very soon. Like, a day away soon. Kirishima was so caught up in his feelings he damn near forgot the whole reason he was pulled into this situation in the first place. The competition they had been working their asses off for nearly every afternoon for months. Tonight would be their last practice before they would walk onto the stage and perform their hearts out before an auditorium of people who're going to judge them.

"Bro, how the hell are you not freaking out? I'd be freaking the fuck out," Kaminari added.

Realization slapped him in the face. Again. Kirishima has never been all that great in the way of self-confidence. The countless wins under his belt and the praise that never seems to go away should help show him that he's better than what his mind likes to tell him, that every win was deserved and earned and most certainly not out of pity. Judges like that don't give out pity like it's candy. It wasn't America's Got Talent. It wasn't some show where they give you lines and multiple camera angles to amplify whatever tragic story you're trying to tell, where they'll let you in even if you're shit because they want to give the crowd something to laugh at.

It was real judges with an actual judging criteria and Kirishima needed to ace every single thing on that list to even be considered worthy of moving to the next roundーif there even was another round. He couldn't rely on his story of going blind to earn him points, in fact, his story could be his downfall. What if he falls off the stage? How is ever supposed to teach students or judge competitions? All Kirishima could rely on was his skill, and all he could do was hope there wasn't someone better than him.

Kaminari was right. How was he not freaking out? Before every other competition, he was on the brink of a panic attack and that continued until after he was done dancing all the way up until the winners were announced. His self-doubt took control, buried itself into the mush of his brain, and made a temporary home. When the contests were done, it would disappear for lengthy periods of time, and then move back in when anything with importants popped up in Kirisihima's life.

But right then, he wasn't scared, even after Kaminari pointed out that he should be scared because being scared before any sort of competition was a very Kirishima thing to do. He wasn't scared. Something different, something new, had wrapped itself around the thorny threads of Kirishima's self-doubt and squeezed all of it away until all that was left was this feeling of... confidence. It surged through him, danced around his lungs and hugged his brain, reassuring him that he would win because he was worthy of winning. All the hard work, the countless hours he spent working and learning and bettering his talent, all the days spent with sore muscles would be worth it because they were going to win.

Such confidence wasn't a product of his own thoughts, it never would be. It was because of Katsuki. It was because of his words and constant reassurance.

Kirishima had been sat on the floor, back against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him. He was taking a break while Katsuki went to the bathroom, and his mind had run away with his thoughts. Consumed and tangled by them. So distracted by them, he didn't even notice the sound of the loud metal doors craning open as Katsuki walked back into the practice room.

It wasn't until Katsuki kicked his leg, did Kirisihima finally notice that he wasn't alone with his mind anymore. He stayed silent. He stayed silent as Katsuki told Kirishima to stand up because they already wasted enough time, but Kirishima could bring himself to move from the floor. Doubt and worry were eating away at his insides.