•Chapter Seventeen•
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He was trying to run. The muscles in his legs were at work, craving a break, as he lifted them high into the air. Sand, it was hard to run in he discovered. For a while he as running with ease, running towards a destination he couldn't see, and he could've sworn he was running on solid ground. But somewhere along the way, the ground changed to sand.
It slowed him down and then he couldn't move anymore. Kirishima tried to wiggle away, tried to use his arms to pull himself out but they sank and found themselves trapped by his sides as the sand began to rise.
He felt it covering his body, each grain pressing into him. It was at his neck and he could feel it piling up towards his chin. That's when the panic burst and exploded and took over. His chest rose and fell at a pace any doctor would deem to be unhealthy and tears filled his eyes to the brim.
And then his mouth was covered. Seconds later, his nose was engulfed and he couldn't breathe. His lungs were yelling at him to just fucking breathe because they were dying, but when he inhaled his lungs filled with sand and he choked up whatever he swallowed.
He was going to die he was going to die he was going toー
It was just a nightmare. Another one of those stupid nightmares he was getting sick and tired of having because they were cutting into his precious sleeping time. He had half a mind to scream his frustrations, to cry about how he's tired of waking up soaked in his own sweat and tears. How he wished he could sleep just one night without being jolted awake, so suddenly and roughly it was beginning to send pain through his body. Kirishima was tired of it all.
But he didn't scream or cry.
Kirishima could make out a figured illuminated by the light flowing in from the window near his bed. As shock from the nightmare began to fade and the world started to register, he could hear what sounded like pen on paper or something of the sort.
"Oh, Shitty Hair, you're awake," Katsuki said. The sound came to a halt. "How're you feeling?"
Kirishima blinked at the question, blinked at the fact that Katsuki was there and he had no idea why. Oh God. Katsuki was in his damn room and he was almost certain that it was a mess because he's been sick and lacked the energy needed to pick up the clothes he stripped from at night because although it was cold outside, the heat his body had been emitting from the fever was horrendous. He'd also never had anyone else in his room before, anyone that wasn't his family or Mina and Kaminari, who were practically family.
"Like shit," he breathed out. "Why're you here?"
Katsuki rose a brow. "I came by to check on you and I guess I got caught up with my homework. Do I need to leave?"
"No," he answered right away with a quick and firm shake of his head. Kirishima realized what he said and how fast he said it, a little too eager perhaps. "I don't wanna be alone right now if I'm being honest."
The writing was back. The taps of the pencil touching the paper whenever he brought it up to start a new word. Kirishima was taught only how the write numbers and letters in his younger years. He wasn't taught how to string them together, it wouldn't do him any good. His name. That's all he knew how to write. In the future, once he was an adult, he'd have to be able to sign things. He was given a card with a section cut out as a way to help guide him.
He remembered using the cream coloured paper with the thick blue lines because the paper everyone else used burned his eyes. A black marker was always his writing tool, never a pencil or pen. The lines they created were too small and light for his eyes to see.
Kirishima wondered what Katsuki's handwriting looked like. Perfect, probably. Maybe he wrote in impeccable cursive. He nearly snorted at the thought of Katsuki, a tough guy who took shit from no one, writing in a dainty and pretty way. It made sense, however, because Katsuki was perfect in a way and took care in everything he did so wouldn't the same care flow over into his handwriting?
"Your skin is soft," Kirishima blurted out. "I liked it."
His hands flew up to his mouth milliseconds later, heat covering his neck and cheeks. Kirishima opened his mouth to speak, to take back the bullshit he just said because it was by far the creepiest thing he ever said, but Katsuki started speaking. And Kirishima wasn't ready for what the blonde was about to say.
"You can touch me again."
Both of them were rendered speechless, blown away by the things the bullshit that managed to slip past their lips. Katsuki added that it would have to be slow, gradual, that Kirishima couldn't just rush into it and that his face would remain off-limits for the time being.
"If your hand goes anywhere near my face, I'm going to chop your fucking fingers off with a dull serrated knife."
Kirishima nodded in understanding. The space in front of him sank down and after finally lifting his eyes, he could see Katsuki's backlit figure. Every mangled shape, bumpy edge, what bits of hair he could make out, and he could see the way Katsuki shifted around to get comfortable. Those small images were all he would be able to see and it would have to be enough.
He hesitantly stuck his arm out and found what felt like the back of Katsuki's hand. He felt each knuckle, each vein that popped out ever so slightly, the select few hangnails he wasn't expecting to find. His free hand grabbed Katsuki's, lacing and weaving their fingers together to create a loose hold. From there, with his free hand, Kirishima found that one bone that stuck out of most people's arms and trailed his fingers up the soft surface, feeling each hair and occasionally a scar here and there. He drew shapes along the way; circles and squares and then other things.
Kirishima skipped Katsuki's upper biceps and his shoulder since both of them were covered by his t-shirt and jumped straight to his neck. Underneath his fingers, Katsuki's pulse skyrocketed and his skin went a little warm.
The redhead drew squiggles, straight lines, and even tried to create the outlines of the mountains surrounding their town from memory. He failed, obviously, because no matter how hard he tried to conjure up the image, his mind was blank.
Then his fingers were on Katsuki's jaw; feeling the sharp edges and the prickly bits of hair that closely resembled something like a beard, if it could even be called that. And Kirishima was smiling, holding in his breath as he took in the softness of the blonde's skin. Katsuki was tense underneath his touch and just before Kirishima could trail his fingers further up, Katsuki jerked away.
In panic mode, Kirishima retracted his hand whilst muttering several apologies under his breath. He got too close, got too comfortable, tried to see if he could push the boundaries a little bit when he knew he shouldn't have, and somewhere deep down, he could feel his insides melting from guilt.
Katsuki took Kirishima's hand in his, ran his thumb along the redhead's palm, and told him to stop with the bullshit apologies because he did nothing wrong. He did nothing wrong except show Katsuki that the world was a little less shit, a little more bearable, and that all the anger he was carrying around was going to turn him to dust. He was one of the only good things in Katsuki's life, therefore he had absolutely nothing to apologise for.
He pulled his hand away from Kirishima's and followed the same trail he did. Katsuki ran his fingers up his arm, taking note of the many healed self-inflicted wounds, slipped his fingers under the sleeve of his shirt for several quick moments, and then traced the veins in his neck.
His fingers found Kirishima's face. Captivated, Katsuki stared. He looked into Kirishima's eyes, grateful he couldn't see Katsuki's face at that given moment because he could only imagine how creepy he looked as he watched Kirishima's scarlet iris's dance. Then, he began to connect the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and dotting the area of his upper cheeks with an invisible line, like he was trying to recreate the constellations in the sky.
"You're warm," Katsuki pointed out.
"Yeah... Kaori says I've got a fever."
"Because you're a dumbass and you're careless. You should've worn more layers when we went to the lake."
"If I would've known you were going to make me sit outside, I would have," Kirishima retorted.
"Or maybe you should've asked Kaminari and Mina for the brain cell."
Kirishima rolled his eyes at the blonde, a smile tugging at his lips, and soon he felt Katsuki's fingers tracing the wrinkles by his eyes and the creases by the corner of his lips. The smile faded as his face began to slowly relax. Katsuki's fingers were gentle, a feather-like touch as he began to create the outline of something over one of Kirishima's eyes. It started at the bottom of his eye and expanded downwards over his cheek, stopping just before it reached the corner of his lips.
The scar.
"It's rough... bumpy, kinda jagged like the mountains. And it's very sloppy, even for a little kid but at the time I didn't care about how it was going to look. If only I had known the bullshit it was going to cause later on," Katsuki explained. His fingers stopped moving, stopped drawing the outline of his scar, but he didn't pull his hand away.
Kirishima melted, collapsed in on himself at the raw emotion he was experiencing. Katsuki's pulse raged through his hand, the redhead could feel it, and he wondered if he was the one who had caused such an out of character reaction. It was the nerves of touching another human beingーhe knew that muchーbut still, something about the way he felt Katsuki's heart beating in his hand against his face made his insides do twists and flips. Because he was causing those nerves, he was responsible, and he didn't feel bad.
He was smiling, eyes alight as he sank into Katsuki's oddly soothing touch. His hand was rough, calloused in some places on his palm and a select few places on his fingers; along his knuckles and near his fingertips. They were perfect in their own rough way.
"You know," Kirishima started, "we could work on getting you used to touch. We'll ease you into it. Your arms, sides, and hands can be the first thing we work on. Then your chest, back, and neck. The outline of your face, your jawline, things like that can be next and your cheekbones, lips, nose, and just the inner part of your face as a whole can be last."
"I guess that could work."
Kirishima's eyes widened. He was just talking out of his ass, really, so he wasn't expecting a calm answer let alone a yes. The idea was meant to be one Katsuki could chuck out the window if he didn't like. It wouldn't damage Kirishima's feelings if that were the case, but that wasn't the case because Katsuki actually said yes and he wasn't sure how to cope with that.
Words. He was expecting angry and cruel words to come flying out of Katsuki's mouth for suggesting such a stupid thing. Words that would chip away at his heart and eventually pierce it. Instead, he received calm words. Words he could accept and be happy with. Those words meant progress and an even bigger opportunity for even more progress.
"Really?" he asked in an attempt to ease the anxiety he was feeling. It was possible to have misheard Katsuki. Maybe Kirishima only heard what he wanted to hear; his brain might've pieced together the ideal sentence and because of that he needed to confirm Katskuki's words.
Katsuki started to give a nod just before he said, "Yes, really. What, are you going deaf?"
Kirishima shook his head instantly. "No, man, I was just making sure I heard you right. That's all."
"Right..."
Somehow, they separated themselves from each other. Kirishima let his head fall back against the pillow drenched in his sweat and Katsuki began writing again, the taps of the pencil filling the air. They sat like thatーenjoying each other's company, basking in the silence that encased them.
Within seconds of relaxing, Kirishima was sitting up, eyes wide as he began to cough and shake violently. Someone wrapped him into a hug, someone who wasn't Katsuki, and ran their hands along his bag to relax him. He took small sips of water and ingested another round of medication to help combat the fever that wouldn't seem to break.
Blankets replaced the arms that once held him and he was coaxed back onto the mattress. Coughs erupted every now and again as he tried to relax, sniffles sometimes following. Aches shot through his veins. His throat felt like someone had poured sand down it, like from his dream.
The thought of the dream being real, or reality being his dream, shot through his mind for a split second before he realized that it was stupid to think about it. No one poured sand down his throat, he wasn't drowning nor was he suffocating. The fever that surged through his body simply took pleasure in mind fucking him, something he didn't appreciate, but it wouldn't last forever. The fever would break and he'd be allowed to go dance his heart again.
Katsuki was still there. Staring. Kirishima could feel it. Over the years he's managed to pick up on when people would ogle at him when he went into places that didn't allow pets like restaurants or certain hotels. He could feel the looks of confusion and curiosity because holy shit, this boy just walked in here with a dog and none of the employees have jumped him yet. He's learned how to feel the stares of others, a skill that did little for him.
"If you're going to stare, can you at least talk?" Kirishima asked in a weak voice.
He could feel Katsuki's gaze dance off him, averting to another part of the room. "Any ideas, Shitty Hair?"
"The colour red," he deemed.
Katsuki had to roll his eyes. Red. The asshole was obsessed with the colour red even though he couldn't even see it. It was strange to Katsuki, the way Kirishima insisted on having red things. Things like his hair, the sheets of his bed, some of his clothing, things he couldn't see.
He talked about the colour anyway.
.
.
.
Red is a gasp that sidles past your teeth. Red slips under your tongue and rattles against the roof of your mouth – fierce and abrupt and demanding. It's the way you move your tongue to form words for others to hear. It's how you speak, why you speak. Red, it's hidden behind your words, interlaced with the sounds, tucked away between the letters.
Red feels a lot like love. Red feels like the coil in your chest that tightens with desire – with longing and distance and inexplicable loneliness – and dissolves into poison at the flimsiest of promises. It's the feeling you get when you see someone you love, someone you want to hold and protect and care for with your entire being. It's the dances in your stomach, the flips your insides do, the constricting feeling you get when you realize that they won't love you back.
Red will either enrapture you or repulse you – but it will never not leave a strong aftertaste in your mouth.
Red feels like the heat that seeps under your eyelids, the fire behind your eyes that will eventually dissipate, trickling down to your scalp, when you lie on the grass on a sunny summer afternoon. You fall asleep – slowly, softly, weary bones finally settling back into place after a long day – and for a while, you can't fathom why we equate winters with sadness. Maybe, maybe it's because winter is when everything seems to die.
But red also feels like the blood that trickles down your skin – thick and sluggish and copper on your tongue – and your breath catches at the damp coolness it leaves behind, your wounds alit and your mind racing with the most primaeval feeling there ever was.
Red feels like pain. And it feels a lot like blood as it stains your skin. And it feels like the pain that scorches your insides and the blood that flows through you. Red is the feeling of pain and blood together.
Red will either burn your flaws or burn your flesh – but it will never not leave soot on your skin.
Red. It's a mother fucker. And yet, we somehow can't live without it.
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Word Count: 2892
June 28, 2019
im not sure if I announced this, but i posted a one shot called Finding Eclipse and it would mean a fuck ton of you guys could go read it<3
-StarsNeverLanding