• the specific phobia of isolation; a morbid fear of being egotistical, or a dread of being alone or isolated. •
"Y/n, I've..." He was on the verge of sobbing. His distant and stoic facade that he built up around himself, a barrier, was crashing dow...
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"You've been crying.."
His soft, slightly chapped lips were turned into a light frown, his cheeks puffed up in an unexpected pout. The taller student's deep indigo eyes transparently displayed the concern and worry that overwhelmed his mind like a flash flood, quickly and destructively.
Everything felt confusing and smothering, like I was drowning.
The boy seemed to be having an inner battle with himself, the way he shuffled only the slightest, as his eyes calculated every single angle of my face thoroughly, as if Shinsou was trying to figure out a crossword or a complex puzzle.
Biting my tongue to stop myself from saying anything stupid, I seemed to be in the same predicament as he was in.
The same state of uneasiness from being separated too long.
This is only sensitive situation I've been in with Shinsou ever since I have reappeared back to where everything all started, to friends and heroes to ice skating and dreams. In fact the arrival itself was sort of "mysterious" to everyone. Nobody knew except Izuku, when I called him when I arrived in the city. The school board probably just found out by my father.
The amethyst haired male probably has a billion questions racing through his head, to things that range from "How's the family, Y/n?" to "Has your quirk improved?"
But the main question floating around the atmosphere is: "Why did she leave? But, what's the main reason she came back?"
By each passing moment of uncomfortable silence, the atmosphere thickened to the point where it was hard to breathe. Suffocating, nerveracking, and terrifying. Knowing the unwanted questions will have to be answered sooner or later, it's just the matter of when it will happen. Will he try to take me off guard? Be flat with it?
"I'm sorry." The words flowed effortlessly out of my mouth before I had even a moment to think about the consequences. "About everything."
After all those minutes of complete quietness, I say the most lazy and frustrating response anyone could ever come up with. It's like I'm just trying to put a little cute bandaid on a deep, open wound. But it was a start, I guess. Even if it wasn't a good one.
Standing there against the subway's door, my (e/c) eyes squeezed shut as I waited for an answer. Feeling his mixed gaze of warm and cold scanning my form, I couldn't help but tremble slightly.
Feeling what I would think is a hand, briskly glide across mine, my eyes involuntarily peeled open in a hurried rush. The "hand" was colder than mine and smooth, as if they didn't work with their hands much.
