Chapter Text
"Are you alright?"
This was a question that had a clear answer: no. No, he wasn't alright. Shouto hadn't been 'alright' for some time now. But what was he to do? Answer honestly and worry Momo even more? That just didn't seem like an option.
Even as he resisted to answer, Momo saw right through him. His father never hurt him in a way that left any obvious marks, but the tension in his shoulders was difficult to ignore. He was getting better at ignoring the unloving man's words, but it still wasn't enough where he'd come out completely unscathed.
Momo sighed, unhappy with his lack of response. "Well, I need to get going to piano practice soon. I really wish you'd--" She paused. They both knew that it was hard for him to talk about his home situation. "I'm sorry." Momo said. "I know you're going through it. And I know you don't owe me any explanation. I just wish I could help. Maybe, to get things off your mind, you could journal or something?"
"I wouldn't know what to write." He said. He tried before, but he just blanked as he sat down before an empty word document.
Momo hummed. "Well, that's fair. I find it hard to parse my feelings too, sometimes."
He doubted that. Shouto didn't want to snort at his friend's suggestion but he felt rather uncharitable toward her at this moment. It wasn't fair for him to think of her like this—Momo was just trying to help. But he did so anyway, tired of trying and failing to be okay.
"You could try reading to take your mind off things?" Momo looked over at him. She was searching for something behind his gaunt face, but Shouto offered nothing.
"I guess I could." He had nothing else to lose.
"Perfect!" Momo immediately brightened up. "I got this book from my cousin the other week. She said it was pretty good. I haven't had a chance to look at it but maybe you could take it instead?"
The book was titled "A Map of the Stars." The cover was a simple, matte black filled with shiny, silver dots—most likely to represent the stars. He turned it over and read through the summary. It was about a mother and her son. Shouto pursed his lips, unsure if he wanted to read about something that hit so close to home.
As if reading his thoughts, Momo said, "Really, you should give it a try! It's from a debut author. Apparently, the story has already received a lot of attention. My cousin has nothing but praise for it."
"I'll try, but don't hold out for me." Shouto said, pocketing the book in his bag.
Momo smiled. "That's all I ask for."
The book had been tough to read. The story read through the mother's perspective and her failings as a parent. She left her son early in his life and only came back in his early teens. Shouto stayed up all night to finish the book as he needed to know what would happen.
It was strange how obsessions formed. He didn’t expect to care so much about a book, but it happened anyway.
He was a zombie the next day in school. The words replayed in his head over and over. He wanted to circle every single sentence that spoke to him, but he was afraid he’d have to give Momo her book, fully highlighted.
So instead, Shouto wrote down the snippets that mattered most to him.
Momo remarked that he looked more alive than usual. Her smile seemed to be full of wary hope. He handed her the book back and thanked her. Everyone else told him he looked dead tired, but that wasn’t quite true. Underneath the layers of sleep deprivation was someone who felt born anew.
Midoriya Izuku.
That was the name of the man who wrote "A Map of the Stars." It was his first novel and it already received many accolades from others. Shouto found one interview from a small literary magazine. The questions were generic: what inspired you, what did you write having in mind, does this reflect your own life? Even so, through the removed layer of an article, Midoriya's charm bled through.
Shouto decided then and there that he'd follow this man's works.
(He really needed something to think about other than his family life, after all.)
"Have you read Midoriya Izuku's short story?" Shouto asked. He was sitting outside an ice cream parlor with Momo and her new girlfriend, Kyouka. The two girls had been friends since the start of college but it was only until their third year that Kyouka gained the courage to ask Momo out.
"I haven't had the time." Momo sighed. "School work has been piling up like crazy. Hasn't it been like that for you? I mean, you probably have a bunch of essays to go through, right?"
That was true, but Shouto didn't mind staving off his school work to read through Midoriya's work. His second book—a thriller involving a couple—was a resounding success as well. And then, Midoriya decided to change tacks and write a short story.
It wasn’t a long read. He wished there was more.
"I have time." Shouto shrugged.
Kyouka groaned. "Ugh, I don't know how you manage. Literature majors have so much reading to do. If I had to do that, I'd die."
"I agree." Momo sighed, as if pre-med wasn't more stressful than either Shouto or Kyouka's majors.
"You should read it when you get the chance to." Shouto said.
"I don't know if I have the time… Kyouka, why don't--"
"Oh, you're not tricking me into reading. I didn't pick accounting to analyze literature." Kyouka stabbed her spoon into her rainbow sherbet.
"Who said anything about analyzing?" Shouto said, confused.
"Isn't that what you do when you read?"
"For classes, yeah. But if I'm reading on my own, I just read."
"That's not all of it, is it?" Momo asked, looking curious.
Shouto paused, considering Momo's words. He looked down at his ice cream—a plain vanilla bean. Kyouka had made fun of him for it but he liked the simplicity of the taste. The shop had high quality ingredients and it was obvious from the flavor alone.
"It's more that… the story seems to understand me. I read Midoriya-san's stories for that, anyway."
"He's only had two books out so far, though, right?" Momo leaned back in her seat, in an uncharacteristic slouch. Clearly she was tired of schoolwork if she was doing such an unladylike move. "I only read his first book, but..."
"Wait, wait—who is this guy?" Kyouka asked, looking between the two. "I thought he was your favorite author?"
"He is." Shouto nodded.
"How can he be your favorite author if he's only written two books? I mean, don't you have to read a couple more books than that to have a favorite?"
"Do you?" Were there rules to having a favorite author? "I just like both of his books."
"What if he writes a bad novel?"
"I doubt he'd do that." Shouto didn't know where his confidence came from. He wasn't the one writing these books after all.
"What was the story about?" Momo asked.
Shouto ate a spoonful of his ice cream as he thought about how to sum up the short story. "Violence."
Kyouka looked intrigued. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." Shouto nodded. "The story was about a man who bullied his coworker. No one else knew what was happening, or if they did, they didn't care. It started to escalate more and more until, well. Spoilers."
"You're still holding out on us to read this story, huh?" Kyouka asked, amused.
"It's interesting." Shouto said, looking down at the ice cream. In the short story, the main character’s favorite ice cream flavor was vanilla bean. It was a strange flavor for a cruel man. But maybe he, too, had access to high-quality ice cream.
"I might read it. What’s it called?" Momo said, thoughtfully.
“Dead Man’s Party.” Shouto said.
“Huh, isn’t that an Oingo Boingo song?” Kyouka asked.
Shouto shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Ugh, remind me to introduce you to real music.”
"I didn't expect Midoriya-san to pick a story so dark. But I suppose his first book did have inklings of that." Momo said, tapping the edge of her ice cream cup with her spoon.
"The topic doesn't bother you?" Kyouka asked Momo, looking surprised. "I thought you'd find that sort of stuff… distasteful."
Momo laughed. "You think too highly of me."
"Well, obviously." Kyouka mumbled. "You're my girlfriend."
Momo blushed.
Shouto caught her eye and shot her a knowing smile. He was glad he pushed Kyouka into confessing. Momo deserved someone at her side after having been with Shouto for so long. Now that he was pursuing something he cared about, he didn’t need the same level of support as he once did. Now, all he needed was more of Midoriya Izuku’s books.
Todoroki Shouto braced himself against the garden wall. He unexpectedly had too much to drink. It wasn’t like him to drink any alcohol in the first place, but the nature of the event drove him to imbibe in red wine.
He finally saw Midoriya Izuku in person. It was a writer’s event where different writers came about to talk about their craft. His university hosted one and Midoriya just so happened to be one of the main guests. The luckiness of this event felt too good to be true, but it was real. Shouto had seen him.
Midoriya talked about his upcoming third novel and explained his inspiration. Shouto had been captivated. So much so that to clear the buzzing crawling through his hands, he took one too many drinks. He didn’t know what to do with the excitement in him. What did people do when they were before their idols? Momo had been concerned and suggested water, but he waved her off. He needed fresh air more than anything. Being among so many people, and so close to the person he admired most, was overwhelming in a way he couldn’t quite process. It was… too much.
So, he found himself standing in the garden outside of the university’s banquet hall. It was small, private, and dark. Just perfect. He needed to sober up or he was going to regret this hangover. God, Kyouka was right—he was a lightweight.
“Are you hiding from the others too?” A voice called out. Even in his inebriated state, Shouto could tell who it was.
“Midoriya-san?” He said, trying not to stumble over the plants underneath him. The best thing to do now was to walk away and leave the man to his own. He was out here for a reason. But the reckless, drunk university student in him let him be drawn to Midoriya Izuku like a moth to the flame.
“O-Oh! Sorry, I thought you were someone else.” Midoriya seemed startled. Shouto could barely make out his expression in the low lamp-light. The night was particularly cloudy, so there was no moonlight to guide him. “Would you like to sit down?”
Shouto sat without saying much else. Fire coursed through his veins. He was glad he still kept some of that buzzed feeling left in him or else he might’ve not plucked up the courage to sit beside his favorite author.
The two were quiet for a bit. “You’re a student at UA?”
“Yes.” Shouto looked over. Why was it that alcohol dizzied your eyesight? He wanted to see Midoriya properly, but he couldn’t even see all that well in the dark. “You have freckles. I didn’t know that.”
“What?”
“Freckles. The interviews never mentioned them.”
Midoriya laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, I guess you’ve heard of me?”
“I’ve read your books.” Shouto confirmed. He stared at Midoriya longer, trying to map out the constellations on the older man’s face.
“Are they that strange?” Midoriya asked, rubbing a finger at his cheek.
Shouto blinked. “Strange?”
“You keep staring, so…”
“No. They’re not strange.” Shouto said, shaking his head, but that made him feel dizzy, so he stopped. He didn’t know how to explain to Midoriya how this all felt. How unreal it was to have him beside him in this barely-lit garden. The man that wrote words that Shouto drank in like an animal to a watering hole. Before his books, Shouto hadn’t been living. No, Izuku couldn’t sense the simmering underneath Shouto’s skin.
Maybe that was for the best. He didn’t want to scare Midoriya off.
“I guess people don’t talk about my appearance all that much since literary magazines are there to talk about books, you know?” Midoriya was humoring him, clearly.
“Probably for the best they don’t know. It’s distracting.”
Midoriya laughed. “I’ve never been told my freckles were distracting!”
“I’ve been trying to connect the dots, but it’s not making anything recognizable.”
“But connect-the-dots was always numbered, wasn’t it? God, it’s been so long since I’ve done anything like that.” Midoriya sighed and leaned back onto his hands. Shouto pressed his hands into the bench trying to feel what the other man felt. It was comfortably chill to the touch.
“I liked connect-the-dots.” Shouto said, trying to continue this inane conversation. “I miss when homework used to be that simple.”
“You must be swamped in a lot of work as a student, huh?” Why did his heart feel so light just now? Was it because Midoriya was paying attention to him? “What’s your name?”
“Todoroki Shouto. I have a lot of books I have to read for the classes I’m taking.” He paused, knowing he stepped forward a few too many steps. “I’m a literature major.”
“Nice to meet you Todoroki-kun. I’m Midoriya Izuku—I guess you already know me?” Midoriya was clearly flustered at the thought of being known to someone else. Shouto could understand that, but he wasn’t about to pretend he didn’t know Midoriya. “But, wow you’re a literature major! How nice! Do you like it?”
“Yes.” Shouto hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I wanted to study literature because of your books, Midoriya-sensei.”
Midoriya parted his lips and Shouto lamented the fact that there were no proper close-ups of the man online. He barely had photographs of himself. Which was a pity because his face was perfect. (A fact he was only willing to admit to himself in this buzzed state.) “W-Wow. I, um, never thought I’d be able to inspire anyone like that. You don’t have to call me ‘sensei’ though. I’m really not used to it.”
Shouto didn’t know what to say to that. Should he detail exactly how Midoriya’s books helped him in his younger years? How he found solace within the pages? How the pain and resentment of his tenuous relationship with his father and consequently, his family, had been soothed by the comforting words that Midoriya offered in his stories? His copy of Midoriya’s first book, “A Map of the Stars”, had been dog-eared so many times that Shouto bought a second copy just to keep as a neater version for his bookshelves.
But that seemed too intimate, too personal, to tell this man he just met. It was true that Midoriya’s books offered support when he most needed it, but it wasn’t Midoriya’s job to do the same. The books and the man were two different people. Never mind that the books came from the mind of said man.
“Your books helped me a lot when I was younger.” Shouto said, leaving it at that. That was enough for now, wasn’t it? “So I picked up literature as a major.”
“Wow. That’s… really nice to hear. Thank you.” Midoriya smiled at him and Shouto’s brain stuttered. He knew this man’s smile was wonderful as he saw him stand at the podium and present his story. But it was an entirely different thing to be on the receiving end of the smile. “I always knew—I mean, Hitoshi said—um… never mind. It’s just nice to hear my books mean a lot from someone else. I think I really needed that just now.”
Shouto continued to stare at Midoriya before gathering up the courage to speak again. It seemed like the buzz was wearing off. “How did you pick the topic for your short story?”
“Dead Man’s Party? You want to…ask about that story?”
Was that the wrong thing to ask about? “Yes.” Shouto nodded, trying not to second-guess himself.
“I’m surprised you’re asking about that and not my new book.” Midoriya chuckled.
“I haven’t read your new book yet.”
“That’s true. Alright, I’ll talk about that one. Have you read anything by Mary Gaitskill?” Shouto shook his head. “Well, it’s primarily inspired by a short story she did called ‘The Other Place.’ I read it in my college years which was, what, 5 years ago for me? Anyway, I think it stuck to me all this time so… I made a story about it.”
“What was the short story about?”
“I guess the simplest way to sum it up is that there’s a man who has an obsession with violence. But the story doesn’t lead to murder which I found interesting. Normally, you’d think that there would be death involved.” Midoriya seemed to shed some of his self-consciousness while talking about another author’s story. Shouto was now just realizing that Midoriya Izuku was not someone who was comfortable with the spotlight. Maybe that was why he didn’t have too many images of himself out there. “The story is mostly concerned with a man who has these fantasies about violence toward women. He tries acting on it, but he doesn’t succeed. And then there’s another part to the story where he sees his son have those same tendencies, so he tries to make sure to cultivate someone who doesn’t give into those urges.”
Shouto watched Midoriya talk as he came alive. For a brief moment, it appeared as though the light was shining brighter, but then he looked up and realized that the clouds simply uncovered the moon for that moment. Maybe, it could be a sign.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to ramble like that.” Midoriya said, ruefully. “It’s a bit easier to talk about other authors’ stories than my own writing.”
“Can I ask another question?” Shouto said, brushing aside Midoriya’s bashfulness. He would’ve done his best to comfort the other man, but curiosity overwhelmed him.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Your second book was a murder mystery, but this one isn’t.” He paused, unsure of how to phrase the question. How did one ask ‘why violence?’
Midoriya smiled. “You’re going to ask me why I picked such a dark topic, right?”
“Yes, but it’s not like—like I’m judging you.” Shouto said, haltingly. He didn’t want Midoriya to think that this was coming from a place of prejudgment.
“It’s okay, I get what you’re asking.” Midoriya laughed. He rubbed his neck and looked out to the banquet hall building. “I guess….recently, I’ve thought about the darkness in humans, so-to-so speak. Darkness can often lead to violence, and none of us are exempt from that. I think it’s in all of us. But only some really give into those thoughts. I guess I’d say, I remembered that story recently because of—of some events…”
Midoriya fell silent, looking pensive.
“Events?” Shouto prompted.
“It’s just—how do I explain this?” Midoriya picked at his cuticles. Shouto noticed how torn and red they were—it was visible even in the low light. “I both don’t understand aggression and do. I know we all have these thoughts—these impulses to hurt others. But I don’t understand the mind of someone that would go through with it.”
“I don’t either.” Shouto murmured, thinking of his father’s anger. “Some of it might have to do with anger, though.”
“But some of it doesn’t.” Midoriya sighed. “I don't really know if I’m explaining myself well. I guess I just picked the topic, part because that short story stuck with me for a while and part because I’m just trying to understand the people I’ve come across who get so—so angry.”
“So the story was to understand people?”
Midoriya hesitated as if debating something. He looked toward Shouto with an unreadable expression. “The short story was based on some personal events. I, um, used to get bullied. So I wanted to see the events of what I went through from the perpetrator’s eyes.”
So Midoriya-san had been bullied…
“Did you get anything from writing it?”
“I...I don’t know.” Midoriya admitted. “I don’t know if I, um, healed or anything. But I guess I understand a bit more.”
Shouto was quiet. Making sense of his father’s anger helped him, as well.
“Ultimately, you could say it’s to make sense of violence. My second novel has a bit of that too, remember?”
Shouto nodded. He read that one obsessively when it came out.
“Right, well, the main character of my second book goes through with hurting his wife because he loves her too much. It’s ridiculous to even phrase it like that, but I know people must struggle in that same position all around the world.”
Shouto was silent. “I don’t understand that, though. How can you hurt someone you care for?”
“People do it all the time, I think?” Midoriya smoothed over a ring on his hand. It wasn’t on his engagement finger. Was it a couples ring? “The frustration of not having that person understand you often causes them to become furious. That’s just one reason, of course. Anger isn’t predictable. But whatever the result is, it doesn’t mean you don’t love the person.”
Shouto frowned. That felt very much like an excuse.
Midoriya laughed. “You don’t look like you buy it.”
“I don’t.” Shouto said. “If you loved a person, why would you hurt them?”
“Humans hurt each other all the time. It’s not something we can help.” Midoriya said. “Even if you try your best not to do it, it’s going to happen.”
“But that’s different from constantly hurting someone. Doing it by accident is one thing but doing it on purpose is another.”
“Yeah. It is.” Another sigh. “I guess, I just want to explore this topic in any which way. Sometimes it leads to violence and sometimes, it doesn’t. Frustration and irritation can evolve into ‘I’m going to hurt her.’ I’m not sure if I’m ever going to be tired of the topic, truthfully. Are you… still going to read my latest book in spite of this?”
“There’s no ‘despite’ here, Midoriya-san. I’m always going to read your books.”
“That’s… kind of you!” Midoriya looked flustered once more. “Wow, it’s always so different hearing it from someone that’s not a friend or family.”
“You don’t do book signings, right? I’ve been looking forward to that for the third book, but I didn’t catch wind of any.” Shouto said. He really was hoping to get a signed copy of the book.
“Yeah, they make me anxious… My publisher really wants me to do one, but it’s a bit too out of my comfort zone.” Midoriya let out a rueful chuckle. “E-Even so, if it’s not too presumptuous, do you want me to send you a copy of my third book with my signature?”
Shouto stared. “Yes. Yes, please. I’d love that.”
“Actually, I might have a few copies in my hotel room. Wanna go grab it now?” Midoriya asked, standing up.
“Alright.” Shouto stood up. The ground wasn’t swaying as much as it did before. It seemed like the fresh air did him some good.
Shouto began making his way with Midoriya out of the garden before being suddenly stopped by a man with black, spiked hair. He was tall and well-built.
“Izuku! Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.” The man sounded harried. He shot an appraising look toward Shouto. “Who’s this?”
“Yo, I told you I’d be in the garden.” Midoriya’s voice dropped low. “He’s a fan. I’m thinking of giving him a signed copy of the book.”
“Really?” The man looked Shouto up and down. “Is that all?”
Midoriya sighed. “I just need to get him a book and we can be on our way.”
“Yeah, no. We need to go inside now. There’s some people asking for you and I told them you’d go meet with them.”
“What? But I-I told you—”
“Come on, there’s a journalist from the New York Times. She wants to speak to you, specifically. Are you going to let this chance slip through?”
It felt odd being caught up in the middle of this. “You can go ahead, Midoriya-san. This sounds important.” Shouto offered, not wanting to take up the author’s time if he could help it.
Midoriya’s expression was not relieved, as Shouto expected it. He looked distressed, but Shouto didn’t know the other man well enough to read much into it. “U-Um, alright then. Do you still want the book? If you don’t, that’s fine—”
“Of course, I’d like that book. But I don’t want to give you trouble.” Shouto would give his right arm to get an autographed copy from Midoriya, but the person called Yo was staring daggers into his head. It was probably best he left before he caused trouble for the writer.
“How about this—” Midoriya pulled out a notecard from his pocket and scribbled an email on it using a black pen he kept in his pocket, “Email this. I’m sure whoever is on the other end can hook you up to something.”
The email was strangely unofficial sounding. ‘[email protected].’ Shouto looked up at Midoriya to question it, but the man’s expression caught him off-guard. His smile was strained—nothing like the gentle one he wore only moments earlier.
Shouto pocketed the note without saying another word.
Midoriya’s shoulders relaxed. “It was nice meeting you, Todoroki-kun! Good luck in your studies!”
The man beside Midoriya did not relent his gaze that was trained on Shouto. “Let’s go, Izuku.” He said, bringing an arm around the shorter man.
“O-Oh. Yeah, okay…” Midoriya shot one last smile toward Shouto before being pulled away from the garden.
Shouto watched the two leave, feeling strangely put-out. He pulled out the notecard and did his best to memorize the permutation of letters in case he were to lose the paper. But he wouldn’t lose it. He didn’t intend to.
He sighed and went back to the bench. Shouto sat down and leaned back to stare at the sky which was once more hidden by clouds.
Hello,
I was given this email by Midoriya Izuku to see if I could get a signed copy of his third novel that’s just been released. I was at the press signing yesterday and if you ask Midoriya-san, he should be able to validate my story.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Regards,
Todoroki Shouto
***
Hey Todoroki-kun!
This is Midoriya Izuku, actually! This is my personal email, haha. I figured it was better to give this than some random publishing agent. I hope that’s okay! I had a really nice conversation with you last night, and, well, writers have to do everything in their power to keep the interesting people around them. It’s good inspiration!
I’m glad I talked to you then. I was feeling a bit skeptical about my book but I’m glad that I reached at least one person. I’ll get you a signed copy of the book! Do you have a P.O. box I could send to?
This feels a bit strange to me, truthfully. I know that there’s a part of me that’s aware that this is me stroking my own ego--connecting to a fan like this. But, please believe me when I say that I enjoyed what you had to say. I don’t often get a chance to do fan meet-ups and whatnot. My editor, Shinsou Hitoshi, says that it’s good to connect with fans to see what they like in my stories. I hope you don’t mind that I’m enlisting you as the first person for this experiment of mine.
I apologize, I’m rambling. Anyway, I hope to hear from you soon!
Sincerely,
Midoriya Izuku
After that night, Shouto began to look out at the stars more and more often. He never thought to make a connection between them and freckles, but now that he saw Midoriya up close and personal, it felt like an obvious connection.
The email that Midoriya gave him turned out to be his personal one. It was odd that he didn’t say it right then and there, but Shouto decided to leave it as is. What was the point? He had Midoriya’s email. He had a tangible connection to his favorite author.
Shouto stopped scouring the internet for information on Midoriya soon after. It felt too much like he was a stalker to be constantly on the lookout for the author’s personal details. After all, when he worked up the courage to ask such things, Midoriya would readily answer any question.
The stars aligned themselves that night to bring him this miracle. Or maybe the stars were just a map of the things he should be searching for—like answers to his problems.
It wasn’t long before their cordial letters turned to more relaxed, friendly exchanges.
Hello,
Midoriya-san. I hope your day is going well. Did you know I finished your book in one night? I ended up not completing an essay I had due for the next day and ended up late to a class because of it. I don’t mind though. It was worth the read. (Don’t worry, my grades won’t suffer much.)
Have you read a poem called “I knew something was wrong” by Dorothea Grossman? You probably might have. I read it just the other day and it reminded me of you.
Best Regards,
Todoroki Shouto
***
Hi Todoroki-kun!
Thank you for the poem! I actually haven’t read it before haha. It’s funny you think I know every piece of literature out there, but I swear I don’t. I actually skimp out on poetry a lot of the time! I think it’s probably because half of the stuff I read are things my editor (Hitoshi, if you remember) wants me to try out and he rarely touches poetry. But I liked it a lot! What made you think of me in particular? I’m curious :)
Don’t neglect your studies for a book! I’m really flattered you liked it that much, but it worries me to know I might’ve indirectly affected your schoolwork. But then again, I wasn’t much better at your age….
— Midoriya Izuku
***
Hello Midoriya-san.
Don’t worry about my schoolwork. I’m usually on top of it. If I’m not allowed to indulge in truancy every now and then, then when? That’s something I learned from my friend, Kyouka. She says that breaking rules is good for the soul. I’m not entirely sure I believe her, but I think I see some of what she means.
(Also don’t worry, Midoriya-san. I remember Shinsou Hitoshi.)
I’m not entirely sure of why that poem reminded me of you, but perhaps it just seemed like something you’d like. You’re very good at writing things that feel strange and off. I figured that you must understand the feeling of picking up a piece of sunlight in one way or another.
I feel that the ‘sunlight’ in the poem may be a metaphor for something, but I’m not sure what.
Best Regards,
Todoroki Shouto
***
Hey Todoroki-kun!!
I think your friend might be onto something! I think she’d get along with Hitoshi haha. Or maybe not. I find that people are either put-off by his personality or like him a lot. It’s a hit or miss.
When I read through that poem… I think I understand a little bit of what you mean. There are elements of strangeness in my books like the poem, but also, that’s reflected in my life, as well.
If I were to say the sunlight was a metaphor for something--and this is completely my interpretation--it might be a truth? What if a truth comes into the narrator’s hands, making its presence known. I’ve witnessed lies turn into truths with one small item.
— Midoriya Izuku
***
I’m not sure I entirely understand what that sort of metaphor could mean. But my professors have said that I take poetry at face-value, often. But I thought the point of poetry was to evoke emotions, so I never tried to find answers. Even so, I always wonder if I’m supposed to be doing something with the poem or not.
By the way, do you have a favorite poem, Midoriya-san?
— Shouto
***
I don’t know if it has to mean anything, specifically. But if you want it to mean something, then I say search for a meaning. That’s how I treat much of the things I read--the meaning I find in it will come naturally.
And, while I don’t read much poetry, I do have a favorite! Or rather, I have a few favorites but I’ll pick one for you. Have you heard of a poem called “In the Desert”? It’s by Stephen Crane. It’s a little dark but I think it’s rather special. Maybe I like it because it’s just a metaphor for art in general? I’m not sure!
Though, it makes sense to me to see it that way. If the creature’s heart is equivalent to writing for me, then it’s true that I enjoy it, even if there’s bitterness to it.
I also like another poem by him called “Behold, the grave of a wicked man.” I think I might find it strangely relatable.
By the way, do you have a favorite poem? Do you like poetry? I’m glad you like it though! I enjoy you sending me these things :)
— Izuku
***
I like poetry very much, yes. I don’t have a favorite poem though. I find it hard to choose. I just find ones I like and copy them down so I don’t forget. If I find something I really like, perhaps I can send it your way?
The poem was an odd pick for a favorite choice, but given the subject of your books, I’m not all that surprised. It’s dark and interesting. I liked your interpretation. But I also assume it can be seen as ‘being comfortable with your bitterness.’ Although, I suppose that can’t apply to you because I can’t imagine you being bitter. You’re very nice to me, especially considering you have no reason to indulge me in this way.
Why do you find the second poem relatable? I don’t see how it could be relatable to you, truthfully.
— Shouto
***
Haha, you’re nice to me too! I promise, I’m not talking to you from the kindness of my heart. I have my secret, evil reasons >:) Really, though. I enjoy talking to you a lot. I don’t know if this will come as a surprise to you or not, but I don’t have many friends. Hitoshi might be my only close friend and I’m not entirely sure how much that counts considering he’s supposed to be someone I work with. I don’t interact on social media much since it’s all so overwhelming, but one-on-one like this? It’s really nice.
It’s funny you say you can’t imagine me being bitter. I do feel it, though. Deeply.
I found the poem relatable because I often think of what it would be like to be all three of the people in that poem: the wicked man, the stern spirit, and the drooping maid. I guess, I’ve been in the position of the maid more than I’d like to admit. (If that were the case, then Hitoshi would be the spirit.)
I see the poem in two ways in how the question is answered: one being that the maid loved a man that wasn’t truly wicked and the second being that the spirit was correct in his judgement. Both elicit different emotions, don’t they?
Anyway, I’ll let you draw your conclusions with that one!
— Izuku
What was it that Shouto felt when he read through Izuku’s latest email? Hunger?
Yes, it had to be hunger. They were just words on a screen, and yet all Shouto could feel was something clawing up inside him to frantically type out “Why? What made you bitter? I want to know everything about you. Please let me crawl into your brain.” The desperation took him by surprise, but it felt ready to burst out of his skin.
This feeling was ‘obsession’, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it an ‘obsession’ to want to know everything that Midoriya Izuku was thinking?
But the small crumbs of life Midoriya gave him left Shouto hungry. It was hard enough to satiate him. But he couldn’t find it in himself to beg for more small scraps of food. It wasn’t pride that stopped him from doing this. But rather, the knowledge that he didn’t have a right to ask for more. There was an invisible line already drawn in by the expectations set forth by society. He couldn’t get too mad. This wasn’t something he could change easily.
Still, Shouto wondered about Midoriya. Where Midoriya’s bitterness started and ended, what it was about, what Shouto would have to do to see the ugly parts of MIdoriya’s soul. He couldn’t imagine the kind man thinking in such a way but the strange dichotomy made him all the more curious. It felt unpleasant to be put outside this circle of knowing. But it wasn’t as though Shouto cared about how others felt. Being left behind never felt like a painful thing until Midoriya unintentionally drew up the wall.
This was ‘obsession,’ wasn’t it?
Shouto felt tired. He pressed the palms of his hands into his closed eyes. The glare of this laptop was no longer visible behind his hands and for a moment, he could ignore the pressure building up inside him. (A part of him knew that this force wouldn’t stop building because, for better or worse, he was a pressure cooker that could handle it all.) He didn’t want it to be preoccupied with Midoriya. It felt as though he was tainting their relationship this way.
“Do you both love each other?”
Kyouka and Momo looked at Shouto with surprise evident in their expression.
“Um—” Momo looked over to Kyouka who was now staring at her with an intense expression. “Yes?”
“You don’t sound sure of yourself.” Shouto pointed out.
Kyouka snorted. “You put her on the spot.”
“And you didn’t even answer!” Momo said with a pout.
“So, do you?” Shouto asked once more.
“Yes.” Kyouka said with a nod. Her embarrassment peaked ever so slightly with the way the soft pink crawled up her ear. “I do.”
Momo blushed.
“How did you know?”
Kyouka shrugged. “I just looked at her one night and decided that I felt comfortable. It felt like… like the same kind of comfort that I have with my parents, so I guess it felt l-like home.”
Momo’s eyes softened. “Really? You feel comfortable with me?”
“Why is that the thing you’re touched by?” Kyouka asked.
“It’s just, you’re like a cat. You don’t want people in your space.” Momo said, smiling now. “But you’re okay with me, so—”
“Of course I’m okay with you. You make it sound like I wasn’t the one who liked you first.”
“It’s different, isn’t it? Liking someone and loving them?” Shouto interrupted.
Kyouka shrugged. “I guess so. In the beginning, when I asked Momo out, I dealt with all the worries and what-ifs. But now, it’s different. More…secure.”
“Less nerve-wracking?” Shouto offered.
“It never stops being nerve-wracking. Smaller things may not worry me as much now. But the deeper issues like just the concept of ‘forever’—I think about that a lot.” Momo said. “That’s just further proof of how much I care for Kyouka.”
Kyouka leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of Momo’s lips.
“Was it always about comfort, though?” Shouto asked, interrupting their moment. Kyouka shot him a glare that he knew she didn’t really mean.
“Not at first…” Momo trailed off. “I guess it started off as curiosity. Wanting to know about someone more and then wanting to know even more about them.”
“Yeah, it was the same for me. I saw this girl in my 8AM class that looked so put-together when everyone else looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there. I had to know what her deal was.” Kyouka said. “God, you’re still the only person I know that actually wakes up before 7 for fun.”
“Hey. it’s not because I find it fun! I just wake up at that time. I can’t help it.”
Shouto tuned them out. He knew what their song and dance would be: Kyouka would refute with something teasing, trying to purposefully get a rise out of Momo while Momo would do the same, albeit in a more successful manner. He thought back to Midoriya. It didn’t have to be an obsession, right? Perhaps, he was just a map-maker, trying to figure out the mystery that was Midoriya Izuku. Or whatever metaphor fit (and didn’t leave him feeling slimy.)
The correspondence continued. And whatever emotion Shouto was trying to classify in himself grew. He didn’t want to call it ‘obsession’, but ‘desire’ didn’t seem quite right either. ‘Hunger,’ ‘thirst’—none of those things seemed right. There had to be something else.
‘Crush’ wasn’t it either. Too simple of a word, too childish. And ‘love’ seemed too grandiose and unfit for someone like him, who knew much of what it was. He could hardly recognize it.
He’d keep searching for the right word. He wasn’t a writer, so he knew that this would take time. But Shouto didn’t mind looking for an answer. He could be patient.