Bakugo
10 years ago
"How's your cut?" Headset asks, wrapping her arms around my waist from behind, her chin just barely reaching my shoulder.
"It's fine."
At the kitchen sink, I do the dishes, usual ministrations given obstacle by the bandage wrapped around my thumb. My wife makes up for the inconvenience with occasional kisses at the nape of my neck, her fingers fidgeting with my shirt. I sigh into the acts. The water and dishes sound against each other in the sink.
I can't help but think of Ame as droplets glide down the glass like tears did down his face. When he saw blood tarnishing my skin, it took on an expression I'd never seen. Like he was scared the world would collapse because of a little red.
"Yuki won't stop talking about how none of the girls at recess want to marry her. Ame said he sees her, when he's with Mu and Kenji."
I look back at her over my shoulder. She knows it calms me down to hear about their days. But I'm more curious as to what extent Ame actually spoke. I ask silently with eyes- a sort of communication we've mastered with one another over the years.
"He's doing better every day, Katsuki." A reassuring hand rubs up and down my shoulder.
"Is he getting bullied?"
Headset sighs. The thought of her son being demeaned, harassed to the point he can't bear to speak is more frightening than you'd think. Guilt rises in me when I see her pained expression.
"I haven't heard anything from his teachers or from him. He's never come home with bruises and Yuki hasn't said anything, you know she'd defend him if she saw something-"
"You're right," I nod, but Headset can tell I'm not completely there.
"Did something happen?"
I have this fear I'm not quite sure how to express.
When I gaze out into the backyard from the window above the sink, two children come into view running through the grass. Yuki and Ame scatter beside each other, smiling. Ame claps as Yuki shows off her firecracker explosions.
A bittersweet feeling crawls into my chest, settling around my heart.
"His hat," I say, looking out as they frolic in the sun.
"The yellow one?" Headset asks, because I've put it through the wash five times now and still the blood he tried to heal remains. Like it ingrained itself into the fabric and just won't come out.
"He put it on my cut- he knew it'd be ruined, but he didn't care." I say. Because selflessness is double-edged. I don't mind bearing a few wounds. But the thought of Ame's blood on that hat instead of mine makes my hands shake. "What if he gets hurt one day and just doesn't tell me because he thinks it doesn't matter? What if he can't tell me?"
"It's okay." Headset shushes me as I wipe a hand across my face, frustration coupled with the sound of my son's silence ruminating through my mind. "He's six, we have to give him time. Isn't he doing so well with the drums now?"
I nodd, a small smile managing to curve my lips as I think of how Ame jumped back when I dropped a cymbal on the ground. He was wearing my shirt, the material near his ankles when he followed me into the garage. The sound of it made his four-year-old heart stop, a squeak rising in his throat. Once I got him on my lap, let him count the tempo, and hear the music even though it was loud, Ame got comfortable fairly quick. When I gave him the sticks, let him start to play while my feet managed the pedals he couldn't reach, he did exactly as I taught him. It was the first time he smiled at me without hiding.
