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かすんでいる - hazy

"I'm sorry."

Ẅ̧̯̞͇́ͅh̛͙̝̩̦̰̯̲̐̿a̬̠̞̘͔͒ͮ̃̀t̵͖̤̖͈̣̲̳ͭ?̴̦̙̿̐

"What?"

"Today was a hard day." His voice was gravely, hoarse, and filled with hurt as he laid beside me in bed, hunched over with the sheets tugged up to his neck. I frowned, reaching forward so my fingers could gently graze his bare back. He flinched at the feeling, lurching away from me.

T̞͎̮͖̥̰͊͌̍̊͠h̴̝͍̫̟̞̭̳͑i̇ͧ͏̰̹s̖̜̪͍̋́ ̧̯̫͇̪̖̤͆̈i̫͉̍ͥͫ͜ͅs̰͕̃̊́ ̣͚̲͕̖͕̮͚ͮ̕o̸̜̙̰̮͖̊̽ͤn̡͓͓͎̪̜̳̝̿ȇ̵̯̲̗͒̒ ͓̘̮͇͙͚͗̑͛̉͟ǒ̰͈͈̲̜̐͘f̷̭̻̲̚ ̻̬̥̪ͫ̎̔͠ͅm͔̤̱͙̗͌̐ͯ̏͝ͅẏ͓̻̹͢ ̛̰̮̻͉̳̼̹̺̄̍f͓̬̻͓̼͈͛͠ã̸̼̹̯̺̓̏̔ͅv̴̫̬͔̽ͭo̝̮̹̟ͦ̑ͨͤ͞r͍̬ͤ̋̕i̜̻̩̻̟ͮ̎ͥ́ͅͅt͕̞̭̥̟͓̘̺̽̒̌͋͠e̵͉̰̬̗̗̝ͯ̐̚ͅ ̪̠̙̍̿̾̎̀m̻͔̞͙̻͔̰̪̓͝e̛̥̞͚̲̓ͧͭm̷̟͈̘̆o̜̬ͥͨ̅̚͠ȑ̮̝͚̝͙́i̭̫͐̊ͩ͗͝ȩ̺̻̦̱̥̣̤̖͒ͤ̾ș̗̠̄̃̍̈́̀ͅ ̗̹̼͐̉̕ò̒ͭ̃͏̩̦͈̗͚̩̜f̵̞̮̜̯͂̅̒ ̭̞͋̚͝y̧̥̤̫̥͍̏ͤ̒͐o̳̘͊̿̚͘u͇̟̣͌͒͘

"Do you want to talk about it?" I whispered gently, not entirely sure what to do in this situation. The Shota Aizawa I had come to love and know had never fallen flat when it came to hiding his true emotions. He had the poker face of a champion, his eyes very rarely twitching in surprise, his lips almost never slipping into a smile.

͙̞̤̘̻̺̜̊̑͝b̘͇͈̱̗̠̪̗̈͟e͈̼̅ͨͪͦ̀c̬͓̙̆͝ā̹̘ͦ̊͢u̝̭̺̰̲͂̄ͫ͌͞s̛̤̥̲͋e̱̱̝̣̦͑͒̑̕ ̯̞͈̽ͯ͜ò̧̩̳͇͉̥̟̩̒͂f̘̜͕̟͙ͧͦ͝ ̵͈͉̐ͪ͌h͖̠̣ͫ͟õ̢͙͇̤̩̞ͯẃ̡̪̰͓̹̟̫̟̂̇ ̧͎͉̯̍̑v̦̯̜͓̩ͣ͐ͩ͡u̵͓̠͌ͨ̉͂l̨͔͈͇̱̫͎ͫn̸̼̙̟̻͍̻̤̊ͣ͂̈́ẹ̷͙̳͇̱̰̀r̬̜̺ͮ͋̔ͤ́ãͦ҉̥͉̺͓b̵̼̣̹̺̲̙ͩͥͫ̚l̙̩͖̪͍̒ͮ͞e͓͍̿͜ ̃ͤ̈̊͏̤̤͙͓͈ͅͅȳ̢̝̦̟̮ȯ̶̩̦̂ű̫͔̜̰ͬ̌́ ̸̹̺̫͔̠͙̉a̜͎̹̠̰͚͎̤ͫ̏ͭ̒͠r̷͎̩̬̐͑e̴̖͈͙̘͇̠̎.̛͚̜̩̩̦ͪ̐

"I'm not sure." He answered under his breath. I let out a small sigh, scooting forward and wrapping my arms around his torso, pulling him into my body. I comfortingly took his hands in mine, those balled up fists that shook softly as he let out tired wincing. He's hurting. I pressed my face against his neck, burying my nose into his hair as I smelled cigarette smoke and cinnamon coffee. "Do you ever think about the future?" He asked randomly, not even sounding like himself at this point. Having his usual monotoned voice quiver as he spoke, the tiniest pitch change at the ends of his words.

T̸̹̝ͨh̸̫̫͙̦͈͍̝̳ͧ͂e̯̩̗͈̳̋̉͂͠ ̯̳̆͗ͬ̚͡f̻͙͕̼̱̜͚̏͟u̠̰̬̰̬̟̼̹̒̓́t̺̬ͪͬ̽ͧ́u̵͓͔͖͔̥̞ͧ̏ŗ̟̭̟̪̭̥͚͋̏̐e̢̦̬͙̊?̵͕͖̥̲̞̞ͫ̀ͫ

"The future?"

"I never gave it any thought." Shota admitted, "Not until I met you." Me? I curled against his body a bit more, my lips kissing the nape of his neck as he began to breathe easier. "Throughout my life, there have never been any constants. How could there be? I'm a hero, a hero surrounded by other heroes that could die at the drop of a hat." His fingers intertwined with mine, squeezing my hand till his knuckles whitened. "And I-. I came so close with that-..." he paused, choking back on his own words as if even thinking of the event made him sick. "with that Nomu.." His breath hitched in his own throat, his body trembling softly as he recalled the attack I had only ever heard about on the news.

I never asked Shota about the USJ incident, not once. He only ever mentioned it briefly when stating how he got the scar underneath his eye, but he never went into depth and I never asked. Because there is a specific look people get in their eyes when something traumatic happens, something that vibrates their very core, and you just don't ask them about it. Just like he never asked me what happened the day my mother was murdered.