I listened to the playlist 'Sludge' on Spotify while writing this if you're curious. It's a super Grungy/Prog Rock playlist made by Spotify that I love!
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"You looked at him and saw someone who looked like he needed saving. That's what you thou...
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Tomura sits at the table with the rest of the former League, eating dinner that Atsuhiro made for them. Dabi and Hiniko are arguing about something, but it is getting on Tomura's nerves. He takes another bite of his food, clutching his spoon tightly.
"All I said is that you should try and get out of the house more!" Himiko jabs. "Maybe if you loosened up a bit, you'd stop frying my Playstations!"
"Your Playstations?" Dabi retorts. "You hardly fucking touch them unless I'm playing, then you randomly decide you need a turn!"
""Oh, what ever. If you're always fucking playing them, then yeah, eventually you're gonna get booted off! You're a sweaty, smelly, stinky gamer, and you should go touch some fucking grass!"
"Oh, you-"
"Can you two please shut the fuck up for at least ten seconds?" Tomura erupts. When he looks down, his spoon is now a dust pile floating on top of his soup, ruining his dinner entirely.
The table goes silent. Everyone stares at Tomura, who is focused on his ruined bowl of soup.
"You've been really tense lately, man," Iguchi suddenly says, breaking the silence at the table. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"
And now, Tomura has had enough. He stands up, his chair skids across the dining room floor behind him, and he heads for the front door. He briefly looks down at the shoe rack before selecting the old, ratty pair of trainers next to his green Converse. He slips them on, grabs his sweater off the shelf, and leaves, slamming the door behind himself.
It's raining, and like with everything else lately, he couldn't be more pissed about it. He doesn't pull his hood on--instead, he lets the water soak his hair and drip down his face. Fuck the rain, fuck umbrellas and hoods, and fuck the color green.
Especially fuck the color green.
He's tried to reach out to Midoriya. He's really tried. But every time, he's shoved from the twerp's brain like the hero couldn't care less about him. And it's all his fault. Now, every night, he's forced to tangle with his own thoughts instead of being able to tune into Midoriya's. And it's all his fault.
He kissed his stupid, kissable face, ran out on him, and now he's suffering the consequences. It's been almost two weeks, and everything sucks.
He hates everything.
The rain drenches him as he walks the streets by himself, and he wonders why everything always has to suck so much. While he didn't mean to scare Midoriya off like that, he had, and now there was nothing he could do about it except wait until the brat was ready to talk about it. And gods, he wanted to talk about it.
Every night, it's all he can think about.
All he could think about was how soft those lips were on his and the noises that his pretty little mouth had made. When he slept, he dreamt about it--that, among other, dirtier things. He wanted so much more from Midoriya than just another kiss. He wanted to feel the rest of his skin, not just where he'd touched and kissed him days ago. He wanted to see what other sounds he could get him to make. He needed to find all of Midoriya's buttons, and he wanted to press them all.
