(Trans Male reader)
Warnings:
Dead naming
Dysphoria
Swearing
Trauma\PTSD
Graphic imagery
Slow updates
Timelines from both MHA and Haikyuu will be fudged a bit so this story can take place.
Not exactly show canon compliant, more like MY canon comp...
(A/N) Oops.. really didn't mean for it to take over a month for me to write this. I was trying to rush through all the set up with (Y/N) and the rest of the OC characters but then I realized that I didn't really remember what the canon characterization was for either show and that's kind of important when my writing technique is "embody said character to give them 65% to 95% accuracy" but then Netflix added both shows so I had the boost to finish this.
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Dark mode recommended.
Now playing: Ghost in the Attic - Addison Grace
Lights passed occasionally through the window of (Y/N)'s room, the sheer curtains blocking out a total of none of it. The lights bounced off the wall at (Y/N)'s head and illuminated the room in a sickly yellow. The rhythmic ticking of the ancient alarm clock was slowly driving away what was left of the boy's sanity like a predator to prey. He flopped onto his back, trying to get comfortable. The room lit up again with another passing car's headlights. Flipping back onto his side, (Y/N) screwed his eyes shut and covered his ears.
Cold fingers caressed his neck.
Y'know what? (Y/N) shot up out of bed, throwing the covers off himself. If he couldn't get any rest in this damn house, he'd go for a walk. Luckily, (Y/N) had passed out before he could change, so he was still in his regular day clothes. It's probably cold out there. (Y/N) softly padded across the room, the cold wood floor beneath his socked feet sending chills throughout his body. Gently pushing a section of the curtain aside, (Y/N) pressed his hand against the glass.
Yup. Maria would want me to wear a jacket. (Y/N) looked around and huffed. He'd forgotten to bring his boxes up to his room, therefore leaving all his clothes in the rented car.
Huffing again in annoyance, (Y/N) walked over to the door of his room, opening it to the yawning darkness of the hallway. He shivered with a phantom chill as he pulled on his shoes. The wood underfoot was quiet and sturdy, never shifting or creaking beneath (Y/N)'s weight. He crept along the sides of the hallway, remembering his old trick of walking close to walls so he'd be walking on settled floors. With bated breath, (Y/N) finally reached the stairs.
The darkness seemed to settle heavy in the kitchen. It felt like descending into a cave, the kitchen counters like alcoves of the rock face, the tile floor like the smoothed ground of a well-loved tourist cave. A distant memory sparked in the back of (Y/N)'s head of wearing a hardhat and working ever deeper into the bowels of a winding cave system. He shoved it away. Allowing the phantom memories into his head was a dangerous path. Like creeping towards a river on slippery ground, he ran the risk of slipping into the river and being swept away by the currents.
Creeping out into the dining area, (Y/N) was taken by a strange melancholy. In the late hours of the evening the place looked.. wrong. Without the bustle of customers and the constant noise of conversation and clanging of a kitchen put to use, it felt like a husk. A ghost of a cafe. At least there were no literal ghosts.
