THE OTHER SIDE / s. todoroki ✓

one. tethered to you

HOSPITALS ARE SUCH INTRICATE PLACES.

As you walk down the corridor, you revel in the mystery of what a hospital is. Contemplation of this is easy to lose yourself in, because a hospital is so vast and endless and chaotic it engulfs you whole, and you lose yourself in the depth of it's belly, trapped in a tangible place that is tethered to this physical plane but also so much more. You look around, met with the blinding white of the painted walls, and the twisted long corridors, which can often feel empty during this time. The absence of something does not sit right with your stomach. The more you see nothing but yourself in that quiet vacant corridor, the more your mind is drawn to the nature of the very place you walk within.

There could not be anything more cataclysmically life-changing than the physical environment that surrounds you. The stench of death is ever so clear, and it paints a fragrant picture within your mind, a mind morbidly fascinated with the loss of the soul and the final moments of living. This was a place that teetered on the edge of resurrection and modern miracles, that saw lives start and end. The power of weaving the fine line between life and death rested in humanity's own hands. They cause their own descent into madness and slaughter, God's creation has too much power to remain fearful of the divine and unknown. You think to yourself, as you continue walking, why do humans die? How did humans die? Was eternity of living, breathing and knowing your existence there and then, not enough for us? Must we also play tricks and hand our fate over the afterlife? Death was no more than the halting of your body, as if the clogs inside ceased to function. Humans were simply intricate pieces of machinery with an expiry date. Was death the absence of your soul, your very essence? You couldn't be sure. Your Quirk could solve this ethically divided problem, but your Quirk is no weapon for power like the others. It is a God-given nightmare bestowed onto the innocent, to test the irreconcilable who cannot fathom the afterlife, who fail to question science and nature and religion wholly and altogether.

At last, you stop at a certain door, which is closed, foreboding and unfriendly. But you already know what await you within, because you had seen it yesterday and the day before and the day before. Besides, considering the doctor's prognosis, it didn't look like things would change after all.

"Hi Mum," You smile.

When you were eight years old, your mother was diagnosed unexpectedly with an untreatable form of cancer. You didn't quite understand the gravity of the situation, but knew that perhaps your mother wasn't always going to be cooking food for you in the afternoon after school, and that visits to the neighbourhood park with her would disappear. Looking back on it now, if only you knew... because it's been eight years since you've slid down a slide with her, or had her pick you up from school. She was your mother, but she couldn't be a mother and a cancer patient at the same time. Others could do this but with your clusterfuck of a life, she couldn't, not without your father being absent from the picture. So, treatments began and stopped and then nearly a year ago, you were asked to deal with your mother's affairs. A heavy responsibility placed onto a then fifteen year old, but who else was there?

She turns slowly, and weakly smiles in response. You look at her momentarily, taking her in. Her eyes are ever so tired, but you never felt to still feel the life surging within them. It normally provides comfort for you, because it proves she is still tethered to this life, this body, this now. Her expression is almost always weary, droopy eyes and pale cheeks that haven't felt natural sunlight in months. Soft, friendly, wrinkles that speak of profound wisdom, adorn her face. Still, there's always a distinct aura of sadness that encompasses her, and it is infectious, already spreading to you the moment you sift into the room.

"How was your day?" You inquire, knowing her answer wouldn't be anything. But you yearn for it to be normal, even though nothing has been normal since you were eight. Even though this, this hospital which you knew like the back of your palm, her bedridden in this room, was your new normal.

She inhales, mustering strength, and it makes your heart swell with sympathy and sadness to see her still like this. "Good. I saw a very good-looking boy in the canteen earlier."

You cringe, "Mum, please tell me you didn't do anything."

"Ah, nothing yet. But he's got this stunning appearance, like he's split into two people."

Frowning, you tilt your head at her description but laugh it off, "Well, if playing matchmaker makes you happy, then go ahead."

She gently leans closer towards you, and takes your hand, squeezing it, "Moving on, how was your day?"

You can't lie and tell her it was good. You can't bring yourself to continue the facade you pull at school and tell her the same things you tell everyone else. Because your day wasn't good. No day was. No day had been good since you were eight.

So you sigh, give a mumble and hope to move on, "It was normal. Recovery Girl gave me chocolate for learning how to tie a tourniquet."

Your mother beams upon hearing this, but cannot tell if it is because it's something riveting from the outside world or if she is proud of you. Could she ever be proud of you?

"Saved some for me?" She laughs jokingly, squeezing your hand once more and upon seeing your face redden in embarrassment, she proceeds to laugh it off. "I'm kidding, I'm happy that you're happy."

But am I happy? You ask yourself.

Still, you lean in for a hug and feel her thin and frail body within your arms. It frightens you to watch the human body wither away so slowly, as if death was not some instantaneous shift from living to not living. To live was to slowly die. And watching your mother slowly die before your own eyes has taught you this more than anything else. She is tethered to the earth by some loose string, and with every passing day, the bond loosens and a piece of herself decays. Despite this, you remain in that hug for a long time, because it makes you feel whole to feel a motherly touch and to know despite slowly dying, she is still tethered to you.

author's note: when i said this might be a short story i think i meant a story with short chapters lmaoooo, also yes i know i keep writing fics with lovely nice mothers, am i inputting my idealised version of a mother because my own mum neglects me emotionally and physically? yes. oops. also i have a bokuto kuotaro fic idea where reader and Bokuto are in painting club at school and have fun painting even tho they're trash at it hahaha. Anyways, enjoy !!