Feral | Tenya Iida

Chapter 12

Third person pov

"Uncle Masaru!" Kit exclaimed with exaggerated exuberance as he entered the Bakugo household. Masaru looked up from his book with clear surprise as the tan boy burst into the living room, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a frozen Chihuahua cradled in one arm like a deformed baby. Its four legs were standing straight up as though it were dead, and Masaru would have thought it as such if not for the way it was wheezing. Was that the same dog from all those Christmases ago? Mateo's dog? Wow, he was surprised the thing was still alive.

Kit liked his aunt and uncle's house due to the fact that it never changed. It was the same year around. Maybe there'd be a new photo on the wall, or Mitsuki would switch out a vase or the type of flowers in the back window box, but other than that the house remained timeless in the coziest sort of way. It was familiar and felt safe. Not as safe as Tenya's bedroom, but Kit really wasn't sure anything could beat that at this point. 

"Kit, hello!" Masaru finally gathered himself, blinking owlishly as he stood. "You don't usually visit around this time of year. Is everything alright? Not that I'm not pleased to see you!"

Before Kit could answer, Mitsuki came strutting into the house like the queen she was. She flicked off her sunglasses and kicked off her shoes, tossing her purse onto the couch without a care and without ever halting. Kit aspired to be that level of composed and confident. "Hun, go clear out your office. This little shit lives with us now." 

"He what?" Masaru blinked rapidly. Kit grinned at him, looking completely smug and content as he plopped his bag down on the couch right next to his aunt's purse. Mitsuki raised an eyebrow as though Masaru were trying to challenge her, and wasn't actually just asking valid questions that anyone would in this situation. Honestly, Kit was living for it. Their relationship was so incredibly weird, but it worked scarily well despite their contrasting personalities.

"See this?" Kit gestured to his still-healing face. Masaru looked startled, pushing his glasses further up his face. Poor guy hadn't noticed before. "Mi madre did this bullshit! Thought I was dead, turned herself in. I was really just staying with a friend, so don't worry. Anyway, it was either this or I go into foster again."

"Can you guess what I chose?" Mitsuki snarked, already looking for trash bags and spare boxes so they could transport things out of the office and to... well, wherever they planned to re-locate Masaru's work space. Kit felt bad kicking him out of it, but grateful all the same. Foster care for him had been brief, but hellish. He was quirkless. The treatment he got from the families he was placed in wasn't much better than the treatment he experienced from his mother, thus making it counterproductive anyway.

"She did what?" Masaru seemed to get stuck on that part, his face twisting with rage. Mitsuki was terrifying, and Katsuki had anger issues too, but Masaru was the most terrifying out of all of them. He was calm almost to a fault, and rarely lost his cool over anything. But when he did, it was time to duck and fucking cover. It was fear-inducing to witness. Kit hadn't seen him get pissed in a long, long time, and he felt relatively flattered that he cared enough to. Flattered and reasonably intimidated.

Seeing his anger was also a bit sad in a way, though, just to know they were surprised, to know that they didn't see it coming, even from a mile away. Mitsuki had hidden it well, but she'd been shocked to hear what her sister did. She was a strong woman, though. Definitely someone Kit looked up to. The fact that she was remaining outwardly unfazed despite the fact that her sister, who she'd actually been quite close to at one point, was now in jail was both astonishing and awing at the same time.

"Beat the poor kid half the death. And she has been for... I... I'm really not sure." Mitsuki frowned, glancing at him. Kit felt himself tense slightly, but he brushed it off as he stepped back. Shit was fine. He needed to fucking chill. "How long?"