Whispers of the South Wind

Chapter 14

He quickly entered the bathroom, shutting the door and leaning against it to catch his breath for just a second, unable to stop himself from feeling a little overwhelmed as the events of the day seemed to crash over him. The entire day had been a whirlwind, his mind still reeling from his grief and the events as he sucked in a big breath.

How the hell had he gone from showing Nugget at the fair to burying her and taking a shower in the hot girl he was kinda crushing on's bathroom?

Nugget's sudden and tragic death had hit him a lot harder than he had anticipated. He'd spent a large part of the drive over to her house crying, finally allowing himself to mourn her loss once he was away from other people. She had been far more than just a chicken; she had been a companion, a source of comfort during his darkest moments. And now, she was gone, taken from him in a cruel twist of fate.

But amidst his grief and confusion, there was something else stirring within him—a flicker of warmth whenever he looked at Y/N. She had been there for him, offering comfort and support without hesitation. And now, here he was, standing in her bathroom, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and nervousness at the thought of being in such close proximity to her.

This feeling was a totally new experience for him; never in his entire life had he really dated before. Sure, there had been women before her, plenty of women. After all, he was known as the playboy hero in Japan for a long time before the war. It was what the Commission had wanted for his brand, and it honestly had worked to promote him fairly well. He was young, single, and was decently attractive. They pushed him to work out, taking care of his body and modeling it when required, much to the delight of the female staff on the shoots.

But, if that was what the Commission wanted from him, then why the hell shouldn't he reap the rewards that came with his new reputation? Modeling gigs turned into quick hookups in the dressing room, hero events always ended with another random girl in his bed. They never stayed for long, always gone first thing in the morning and never to be seen again. In hindsight, he really should have seen a drug problem coming; he'd obviously had a problem controlling himself even back then.

He sucked in a deep breath as he glanced in the mirror, his gaze lingering on the scar that marked his face, shuddering at the sight of it.

When the war had ended and he had finally recovered enough, he tried his hardest to drown his sorrows in sex, wanting nothing more than to just bury himself into a woman and forget the horrors he'd committed, the things he'd witnessed, at least for a night. But of course, nobody wanted to sleep with the former number two hero once he had nothing. When his quirk and money were gone, his popularity, looks, and reputation ruined, they all turned their backs on him, and he instead turned to drugs.

He moved across the bathroom, quickly pulling back the light blue shower curtain and starting the warm water before coming back to stand in front of the mirror. He normally avoided his own reflection, but for some reason, today he wanted to face it. He stared at himself for a few seconds before his hands reached up, slowly undoing each button of his blood-soaked shirt. He opened it, flexing and allowing it to slide off his body before landing on the floor. He peeled off his undershirt next, ignoring the blood that had soaked through and stained it, squeezing his eyes closed as it landed on the pile before finally reopening his eyes and looking at himself fully.

Tomi had told him a while ago that he needed to work on his confidence, that his body was just as beautiful now as it used to be, but it was honestly very hard to agree with her. While he was still decently fit, the cut of his muscles was less defined than they had been when he was an active hero, softer but honestly far more appropriate for his build. He turned, grimacing at the pinkish mark that ran down his neck, over his shoulder before exploding over his back. He glanced away when he got to the long vertical scars on his shoulder blades, letting out a long breath and shaking his head.