Juicebox - Shinsou Hitoshi X Reader

Chapter Twenty-Nine

hello hello!! This chapter took so long to get out I'm so sorry!!!! more to come :))

Song: Just by Radiohead

Hitoshi's lips became the perfect distraction for me. Maybe we were rushing into things, moving too fast. So fast that we haven't properly established if we're dating or not. All I know is that his lips on my lips makes any bad thoughts clear away and I feel helpless as the passion between us grows.

He crawled on to the bed, we were hungry for each others lips and I couldn't care if I was embarrassing myself- Hitoshi appeared to enjoy it quite a bit.

I tangled myself with him, letting my back fall to the plush mattress of his bed. Him, over top of me with greedy lips on my own, his big hands cupping my face as if that would let us melt into one another even more. What started out as hungry and passionate, slowed down to a momentum of soft pecking and the stroking of hair. I didn't want it to slow down, I didn't want it to ever end but looking into Hitoshi's eyes told me he wants to address what the hell is going on with me.

"You're good at that. The whole kissing thing." Hitoshi mumbles, his eyes searching my E/C irises. "You aren't so bad yourself." I smile sweetly up at him, letting the warmth of his palm heat my face, though it didn't need the help to burn.

Hitoshi, leaving me with a final kiss, rolls over to his back beside me. He breathes deeply, calmly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I didn't. But I sighed and complied with his ask,

"They didn't watch me. The broadcast I mean." I let my eyes find the ceilings and search for any cracks or small holes. 

"They didn't bother to even congratulate me because they didn't even know. They didn't know I would be competing in the sports festival after I'd told them countless times and I thought that maybe, just maybe their attention would be on me for once and not whatever is going between them. And I..." I swallow hard taking in a shaky breath to try and calm down a bit before continuing. I didn't want to start crying again, I didn't feel like reaping my body of its liquid once more till my stomach hurt and my eyes burn.

"I just wanted them to get along. You know, me getting third place might have helped it... they could focus on my achievement and less on... yeah..." My voice grows quieter. I can feel his violet eyes stare with intent.

I continued, "So I flipped out. And I broke some things and yelled and ran."

I could hear the smashing of the pot and the soil spilling to the floor, I reached for my neck, remembering the sting of my skin from yanking the medallion off of me with such aggression. My heart grows heavy and my body melts into the mattress remembering, remembering, remembering. I didn't want to remember, I didn't want to face my parents.

"I just..." My voice cracks and I choke on my words, Hitoshi wraps me up in his arms pushing my face into his chest and squeezing me tight. His minty aroma consumed me, creating a vulnerable part of me that Hitoshi always was able to bring out. I had always looked out for Hitoshi, I had protected him and done everything in my power to get back at those that hurt this boy.

But, as he holds me I felt protected. As if he would not let a soul come near or look my way. 

"It's ok, you don't need to explain anymore..." He whispers. We grow into a comfortable silence, and I clung to him and every breath that entered his lungs.

"You should know your mother came by." He speaks again, loosening his hold on me to look me in the eyes. I feel my heart sink and he can feel it begin its descent.

"Mom went all momma bear on her, but you're gonna have to see her tomorrow Y/n." Hitoshi frowns, "You can't hide from her forever."

I sigh closing my eyes, entrapping myself in my brain's darkness, "I know, but I don't want to think about tomorrow yet. I want to stay with you for now."

He hums, "Then tomorrow can wait for us."


______

Tomorrow waited and arrived on time,  I stood in the Shinsou's living room dressed in Hitoshi's shirt and shorts staring my mother in her E/C eyes. 

"Come home Y/n." She says to me, her face dolled up with makeup and fitting herself in a nice patterned jumper with a pencil skirt. Her hair is done tight to where it stretches at her skin. 

"...I will." I say, looking down at my feet, bare and taking in the worn-down rug on the floor. It's scratchy and homey and probably has had more drinks spilled on it than you could count; I have definitely helped add up that score.

"But, I want an apology." I look back at my mother, "From you and dad."

Mom stiffens, her jaw clenching and unclenching. She scratches the back of her neck,
"Sure sweetie. I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

The room's air is heavy and thick, Hitoshi who is sitting on the couch looks blankly between the both of us. 

"What do you mean?" Mom raises an eyebrow, "I'm sorry for not congratulating you on your win."

I'm sorry for being a bad mom. I'm sorry for not caring more. I'm sorry our family can't be a family. I'm sorry I didn't pay attention to you. I'm sorry I don't listen. I'm sorry I've been drinking so much. I'm sorry you've been left out.

I wanted to hear her say it and cry to me and have me cry with her in her arms. I wanted my mom back, and not this stranger who has tried to become familiar. I didn't want to become familiar with someone I can't recognize anymore.

But, she didn't say those things, or cry or hold me in her arms with the smothering of maternal instinct.

"Where's dad?" I ask, she sighs and flattens down her pencil skirt with her hands, "He's at work."

"Ok.."

"Come on, say goodbye and let's go," Mom says, glancing at Hitoshi before leaving the house and waiting outside for me. Hitoshi stands and gives me a quick squeeze, "Call me if you need me."

"I will..." I mumble, every part of me screamed to stay but I know I couldn't. I would have to face my home and stop being a nuisance around the Shinsou household.  We let go of each other, and I can feel my heart burning with the desire of kissing him, my lips tingling remembering the sensation but I give a smile and wave him goodbye.

Slipping on my shoes and with a noticeable drag in my feet, I exit the home, shutting the door behind me with a soft click. I stare at the back of my mother as she walks in front of me, already on a phone call, seeing her phone pinned between her shoulder and ear made my jaw clench and a sudden urge rises to knock it out of its place.

"I have to get to work, Y/n, I'll talk to you later tonight." She said quickly once we entered the vicinity of our driveway, I didn't say anything. I just watched her get into her car and drive away.

Entering the house, I noticed that all I've broken was cleaned up, no more glass, or broken pottery or soil decorating the living room's floor. My medal laid on the coffee table though, the torn part of the strap had been tied into a knot to keep it held together. 

I hold it in my hand, rubbing my thumb over the engraved 3, feeling its bumps and ridges. Slowly I let the medal slide from my fingers and clatter to the coffee table.

I don't take it with me, I simply acknowledge it and head up to my room for the rest of the day. Collapsing into my own bed and not moving for hours and hours. I don't respond to messages, I don't even go on my phone. It was almost psychotic how long I laid in the silence of my own room and myself. The thoughts in my head were on mute, there was absolutely nothing.

To say it was peaceful would be wrong though, I don't want the idea of my complete silence of my body and mind to be mistaken for something peaceful and relaxing. It was a different feeling, like there was a sinking feeling in my chest that would not go away no matter how much time passed. It was a heavy feeling in my head and a tiredness camping in my eyes without the want of sleep.

It was how my body felt weightless and like I was sinking to the bottom of an ocean all at once. 

The sunlight that once shone, peaking through the space my curtains created began to make its departure, leaving me in an unsettlingly dim, dark space.

"Y/n..." There was a soft knock on my door, but the knock made no difference since the owner of it's sound was opening the door straight after. My father stood in the doorway, "Hey sweetie."

His voice was soft and I hated that the skip of hope it gave my heart. I did not respond, I stared unmoving.

"Your mother and I would like to speak to you about something important."

When I didn't respond fast enough, he flicked the light switch, finally getting a groaning reaction from me from momentarily being blinded. I squint at him through the violation of the lightbulb, words bubbling up in the back of my throat, but dying down as if it was pop that's gone flat.

My dad stands with his hands on his hips, dress pants on, a loose button up that was already halfway out his pants and his hair still prim and proper from whatever work day he prepared himself for.

"Come on."

He moves out of the way, and I use all my energy to force myself to get out of bed. It was as if something in my brain took over, taking care of me, putting me on some form of autopilot. Walking down the stairs with my father looming and stalking close behind, he gestures to the living room, where mom sits at the edge of a couch, cup of coffee in her hands that still steams. The mug was a white ceramic one I painted in elementary as an arts and crafts project. The paint was chipping away slowly, but I could still make out the cat faces I attempted at decorating it with. 

Dad makes a gesture for me to sit on the love seat, away from them, and he opted to standing. Hands deep in his pockets and his jaw clenching and unclenching, as if he's trying to grind up any words surfacing he doesn't want to slip out.

I sit to attention on the love seat, finding myself picking at the arms of it where the fabric was torn slightly from god knows what. Probably just from how loved it is. No matter how good we take care of things, they always get a little hurt, especially if it's out of love. Ironic of the love seat, I suppose.

"Y/n." Mom finally clears her throat, she takes a sip at the coffee, a small quick one before letting herself set it down with a small clank on the wooden coffee table.

"Your father and I, are sorry."

I look between them, awaiting any form of elaboration, any form of comment, anything.

"We should have paid more attention." Dad speaks up, "Cheered you on. Noticed."

I nod slowly, not fully accepting this long coming apology but inching my way there. 

"And we're sorry that we HAVEN'T been paying attention..." Mom adds on, picking at her nails. Her makeup was clean off her face, which was a rare sight for me. She looked worn down, but sober. Which was also a rare sight these days.

"Your mother and I love you very much Y/n, you must know that." My dad says, "And we're sorry we haven't been showing you very well."

My eyes burn at his words, and I will myself not to start any waterworks. 

"We do Y/n, and we'll always love you. But..." Mom swallows thickly, her eyes wandering to my father and then quickly looking away. As if she cannot even bare the sight of him. The air grows with a tenseness that both my parents create from their own stiffness.

"Your father and I.."

"We're separating." Dad says, eyes hard and face unreadable. Mom nods slowly, and silently, and they both watch expectantly to what I would do. If I would have a freak out, break a pot, smash a glass, let chaos and my tempter crane it's ugly head and intrude into our conversation.

I could tell by the way they leaned slightly away from me, how they seemed to pause, get ready for my reaction.

In their eyes, I am fragile like a bomb.

But, I had no explosive emotions, it was a state of denial we've all been in for so long about their marriage. About them both sneaking around, and the arguing and silence and drinking, we've all known and yet there wasn't any communication without it being a fight. There wasn't any fight at all sometimes and just unbearable grieving silence of people that were not dead but felt dead to each other.

Denial with all of us. I expected this at one point, an official separation, so all it gave me was a heavy heart and a small nod to them both.

"Ok." I say, and they both let out a breath they've been holding. "So what does this mean for us?" I ask quietly.

"Well, "I'll be gone to your grandma's for a bit, until we get things sorted...legally." My dad says, which makes me nod.

"Are you ok, Y/n?"

I stare at my mother who had the audacity to ask me such a thing, who I don't smile for or make any attempt to give her any indication that I could be ok. 

"Yeah. Tired."

She sucks in a breath and nods, slowly standing up, "That's all we wanted to say, you can go back to bed if you'd like."

Wordlessly, I rise from my loved-too-much seat, and drag myself back up the stairs. They begin to whisper, and I can hear my name being said attached to words that never used to belong to me. 

But now, I supposed they're becoming apart of me.


___________

Going back to school after the sports festival was an awkward experience. Maybe a bit more than awkward... more like uncomfortable. I don't think people were trying to make me uncomfortable, they didn't know how my days off from school went. Even Hitoshi who had been around for the majority of the recovery break didn't know.

Though I went to his house a lot, stole kisses a lot, tried to smile a lot, home was... a lot. Dad would show up whenever mom had to go in for work to start moving some of his things out. Sometimes he'd leave a present for me outside my door, as if it's an apology to ease his guilt conscious. Rock it and soothe it until he makes himself feel better. 

The presents weren't big; chocolates, books, plants to add to my ever growing collection in my room. That must be the most surprising thing about me, the girl who can explode plants loves to collect them. 

But, no one knows about these guilt infested gifts, no one knows about my parents separating at last and how my dad no longer lives in our house. 

The first day back is rainy, the clouds are a gloom of gray that weigh down above our city, rain droplets not missing a single surface to soak. Yet, even in this weather Hitoshi and I still walk side by side. We're both silent, I can't really tell why. I feel groggy, but when did I not these days? Maybe it was the dread we both felt about returning to the halls of U.A.  Or maybe, we both just wanted to enjoy the sound of the rain's rhythm. 

Hitoshi held an umbrella between us, I know his shoulder was getting drenched, but I also knew there was no point in fighting with him about it.

"We're gonna be late at this rate." The silence is broken. I look up at Hitoshi and shrug, "Is that so bad?"

His eyes dart down at me raising an eyebrow, "You suggesting we do go in late?" his voice carries a worry for me. "Maybbbee... what if we didn't show up at all."

"You're talking crazy now Y/n." Hitoshi smiles shaking his head, "If you don't show up how are you going to get all the praise you deserve from Eraserhead."

My eyebrows shoot up at that realization, I begin to pick up my pace, making Hitoshi pick up his. Hitoshi had a point. Being praised by our all time favourite Pro Hero?? Yes please.

Before we know it Hitoshi is shaking the water from his umbrella and departing from me to go tuck it into his locker. I never know if I should give Hitoshi a kiss when he leaves. If I should be holding his hand when we walk around somewhere. For some reason there's a hesitation deep inside of me, questioning what he really even wants. We never confirmed things, never talked about things. No use of boyfriend or girlfriend language, the word dating hasn't come up either. So, what were we? 

My head hurt to think about it on top of everything else that's running laps in my mind constantly. I let my feet drag along the halls as I make my way to class 1-A. It feels as though I'm a statue most days. Too heavy from my stone body to move fast without scraping up the floors. So still and motionless most days. 

Entering the room, it is too much bustling conversations for my liking. I used to get excited seeing Mina talking so bubbly, more than she usually is, but now it just feels tiring. I want to slap myself, how rude I sound about my friend. She isn't tiring. She isn't the problem. No.

 I'm the problem.