・・・ ・・・ ・・・
Shoto lets out a deep breath, staring at the curtains hiding his balcony door. A few months ago, he would've been long asleep, laying on his back, having a long and dreamless rest. Such a life seemed foreign.
Right now, he thought, I should be talking to (Y/N).
Life was busy, he understood that. Being a hero didn't offer a lot of free time. It had become their nightly routine to sit and just talk. He'd usually be ready for bed by the time she came back —Endeavor always kept her so late for her shifts. He'd get her things sorted for the next morning as she showered. Then they'd sit and talk, simply discuss the day and whatever they felt like.
But not now. Shoto tried to catch up on his sleep. He told himself that it was because he was doing more; she wasn't there anyway, no need to waste the time. Deep down, though, he knew it was because he didn't want to think.
Falling asleep was getting difficult now, too. He was used to her steady breathing. Not just hearing it, but feeling her move, feeling it drift over his chest. Shoto didn't know what to do with his arms anymore.
Despite that, he managed.
Every time he fell asleep, he had the same dream. He was sitting in an empty room, on the floor. The only light was his phone. Constantly, he'd get calls from (Y/N). Answering always led to different things. Sometimes she'd laugh and belittle him, say she'd joined villains. Sometimes she'd just talk about life like she wasn't missing. Sometimes, she'd be crying, whispering, trying to tell him where she is, but he couldn't understand a word she said.
Sometimes, he listened to her die, usually as she was being shot. Those were the worst: when she was shot to death. After she got a bullet to the side, she flinched at the sight of guns, even on TV. She'd said she had never been scared of them before, but now...
Shoto sits up with a start. He breathes heavily for a moment as the setting sinks in before he sighs and drops his head to his hands.
It's just our room. I'm in our room. Again, he huffs out a breath. He twists to pick up his phone. He felt like he should be seeing missed calls, but his screen was empty. Just a picture of her.
2:56
September 2nd (Friday)
He stands up, wandering over to the balcony. The curtains felt heavy and the door stubborn. When he stepped outside, the air didn't feel clean, but he watched the stars. Could she see them from where she was? Could she... see?
Shoto lets out a heavy breath. His eyelids twitched when he closed them so he forced them open again. Heterochromatic eyes danced along the barely visible treeline and then to the moon.
"O, dear princess, how I miss thee so." He whispers to the sky. "My heart longs for your touch."