All My White Lies | bnha

nine | rainy heart

"GET OUT,"

It was raining. My hair hung in front of me, pasted against my forehead and my cheeks as I watched my mother throw out a box. Her arms were tight against her chest as if the anger would fly straight out of her if she unfurled her figure further. "I'm not going to house a hero," She hissed.

I tried to blink the wetness out of my eyes and fan away the rain, but it was fruitless. I didn't know what to say; what words would work against a banshee that was so stuck in her own head? I moved to grab at the box, flinching when she raised her hand, a shoe tucked within her crooked fingers.

Her arm reeled back momentarily and I moved my head to the side, a searing pain blasting across my cheek. I was lucky that it was a soft slipper; had it been any harder, it would've drawn blood. "Why do you hate me?" My words were breathless, tough in my lungs as if they were the heaviest metal on earth.

I lifted my head, my right cheek bursting with pain. "I didn't kill him. I didn't. . . I couldn't. . . I didn't mean to," I swallowed hard. My gaze was unwavering but it was hazy, eyes glazed over with unshed tears. It was so hard to focus on her frame, her skinny figure that stood out with nonexistent happiness.

There wasn't an ounce of love left in her bones, no care left in her veins. The reaper had taken that the day Kioshi died. "You killed him! You killed him with your damn quirk, with everything! You killed your little brother!" She roared at me like a prideful lion, refusing to stand down.

If she did, she'd shatter on impact. Watching her poised with only one shoe in hand was like gazing at a broken vase, its shards restacked and glued together as best as it could be. My mother was simply waiting to topple over, to fall apart. "You couldn't give him the one thing he needed," She crumpled.

Her weight relied more on the doorframe than her legs, her voice shaking just as much as her limbs. I wonder if this hurt her as much as it did me; if that sting on my cheek resounded in her heart somewhere. "What about me? What about what I need?" I questioned, a broken tone in my words.

"Does it matter?" She snapped. Her sunken face stared into mine, looking more like a canvas stretched across high cheekbones and a slim chin than a human expression. Grief had made her look gaunt, lifeless. "You're as good as dead to me. You died the minute he did," She bitterly spoke.

I looked at her, sniffling and fighting to clear my throat as I finally understood what she meant. I wasn't any good alone, I wasn't any good alive. I didn't die when Kioshi did, my worth to her did. I may have been firstborn but I was secondhand, like an organ fridge delegated to my younger brother.

If Kioshi had never been born, this never would've happened.

If my quirk hadn't shown up, he wouldn't have died.

I grabbed the things that she had thrown at me. A duffel bag hanging from my shoulder, boxes laid across my forearms, keys, and necklaces hanging from my fingers. As much as I could fit within my hands stuffed with me, almost as if one twitch of my hand would make the entire setup fall apart.

Still, there was so much on the floor. My eyes flitted away from my mother like a silent apology. She hated what I had created, the ghost of my brother that clung onto my arm. "Kioshi," I whispered, feeling the ink being take its place, forming gangly arms and blank white eyes.

He gazed at me, at the sky, and then at the doorstep where our mother stood. "Don't ask," I muttered lowly. The ink boy nodded, quickly grabbing the things that I was missing as they tucked into the black sludge of his body. "Don't call him that," My mother spoke, voice hoarse and lost of all life.

"Don't call that thing by my son's name."

I looked over at Kioshi who hovered above me, lips slammed shut as he stayed silent like I requested. Usually, he'd protest, but he could tell now wasn't the time. When I looked back, I pitied her because she'd never understand. She'd never see why I called him Kioshi, why I considered him my younger brother.

She never witnessed the blood I drew, the ink I traced, the pain I felt. It was like imminent torture when I pierced my skin, tracing over the lines of Kioshi's last creation, calling him by the same name as my little brother. It was a curse to her but it was a blessing to me; the last thing I had left of him was alive and it was here.

It was something the reaper couldn't take away.

I heard her throw something else, the shuffle of her hand followed by the whiz of wind in front of me. I stretched out my left hand swiftly, summoning an ink dagger just in time for the slipper to pierce the blade. I let out a breath, both tired from the weight I was carrying and now the amount of blood that drained out of me.

Kioshi looked over at me, concerned before he began rifling through my things, cracking a pen open with sheer force. "You need it," He suggested. I looked at my younger brother and then at my mom who watched him with a pale expression, eyes wide in both fear and another emotion I couldn't measure.

The idea of seeing the ghost of her son—no, a remake of him—speak and tend to his older brother. Seeing him alive. "Kioshi?" She whispered. However, her words didn't grant her mercy, the sludge turning straight to her as his white eyes narrowed into a tantalizing glare.

Her face sharpened all of a sudden and she quickly slammed the door shut, leaving me and my brother in the rain. Kioshi huffed in an unimpressed manner before shoving the pen into my hand. "You need it," He repeated and this time, I reluctantly wrapped my fingers around it, cracking the ink tube with my teeth as it drained into my mouth.

The dagger seeped back into my skin, the slipper falling onto the unmown lawn and disappearing amongst the threshes of grass. He hovered over my shoulder, peering at my screen silently as I scrolled through my contacts. There weren't many. My mom, dad, my friends, and the Indian restaurant I always called for take-out.

"Call Nejire,"

I glanced up at him. "Why her?"

"Why not her?"

I gazed at him, his own eyes unwavering from mine. The idea was fleeting, effervescent unlike the beating of my heart. "What's stopping you?" Kioshi watched my thumb hover over the contact, clearly hesitant. I don't know what was shaking more, my hand or my heart.

"Do I want her to see me like this?"

"When has she ever pulled away from you? I mean, I would considering how ugly you are, but apparently, she thinks you look better up close."

A dry chuckle left my lips when he glanced at me, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Call her," He repeated. And maybe I could feel it. The moment she picked up the phone with a cheery word I broke down. The gravity that tugged us together like magnets explained why she always held me so close.

Why I always wanted her so close.

When she sought out the expression on my face I sought out the feeling of her hands against my skin, the warmth that it brought me amidst the cold rain. And the lift of her umbrella above my head to keep me warm, big enough for her to tilt forward to protect Kioshi too.

He smiled gratefully at her and she beamed at him and then at me, taking extra gentle care when she saw my tear-stained cheeks. Slopes of pity etched into my skin; I was kissed by my own sadness and drowned by a pang of guilt that wasn't mine. "You came," My voice cracked as I leaned into her touch.

She smiled softly at me, her umbrella hovering above her like the halo of an angel.

"You called."