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The weather was frigid; it snowed, and it was getting quite dark – for it was the last day of the year. Along the street, in this cold and dark; walked a poor little barefooted boy. It is true that the boy had left home with slippers on, but what was the good in that? They were great big slippers his mother used to wear. They both, unfortunately, came off as the boy ran across the street to avoid the cars racing by.
One was nowhere to be found and the other was stolen by another boy, saying that it would come in handy one day when he decides to have a wife and kids. So, this was where the little boy was at, walking along with his bare feet starting to turn blue and purple. He looks at his left hand with disdain; he knows he can use his quirk to keep himself warm, but he can barely control it without burning himself.
So, he keeps walking; clutching his arms to his chest and trembling out of cold and hunger.
Snowflakes started covering his hair to the point where the red is barely recognizable – almost matching with the right side of his head. Not that he’d really care to notice. Lights were shining in every window and the savory aroma of toshikoshi soba lingered into the streets. The smell reminded him that it was New Year’s Eve.
He spots a corner between two houses – one of which is jutted out further than the other – and decides to crouch and huddle there with his body close to him for the time being, but despite that he got colder and colder. He didn’t dare to go back home; his father already beat him for not training to his standards, and besides coming back will only lead to more abuse. Home would just make him feel colder and lonelier.
His hands were becoming really numb with cold; he could also feel his energy dropping. He glances at his hand and causes a little flame to flicker. It glowed brightly as if he was holding a candle and brought it closer to his chest. The feeling reminds him of being in front of a fireplace, listening to the crackling of wood, and gave a sense of safety and peace. He moved the flame to warm his feet, but a gust of wind stopped any chance of that happening and the thoughts of the warm fireplace gone. All that remained was the tingling on his fingertips and burn marks forming on his palm.
Though he’d rather not use his quirk again, he didn’t have much of a choice so, he sucked in his breath and lit a fire in his hand. The flames lit up the wall causing it to become transparent and allowed him to see into the other room. Where a small family gathered and ate various Osechi Ryori dishes and seemed happy. Happy. They laughed and joked around, and discussed topics he couldn’t make out. He kept watching – feeling a bit emptier – and noticed a young boy approaching. He reached out his hand with a warm smile and anticipation in those emerald eyes.
He was taken aback by this but reached for the boy’s hand nonetheless. Then the flames died out, leaving a solid, cold, damp wall in its place. He bit back at the throbbing burns overtaking his hand and sparked another flame. This time around, he sees a magnificent Christmas tree; one that is larger and more decorated than any tree he’s seen on T.V. The lights wrapped around it mesmerized him as his flame goes out and the lights on the tree become the stars that hang in the sky. He doesn’t make any movement to activate his power and just watches the stars.
The boy’s eyes widen as he sees one of them streak through the night leaving a fleeting trail. Someone must have passed away. He blew into his hands with no real luck getting warmer. His late mother – the only one who really loved him – once told him that when somebody dies their soul will shoot into the sky and fly across the universe to an unknown destination and that a meteor shower is when all the spirits gather as a final goodbye to pass on to the next life.
He looks at his palm and notices the blueness and swelling inching toward his wrist. He lights it up again, surprised that he felt nothing in his hand at all, but the flames still shined. In the soft glow, his mother stood there, gentle and patient, and showed a loving expression.
“Mother!” he cried. “Please, take me with you. I don’t want you to disappear like everything else. I want to laugh with a family, feel warm, and actually feel at home.” His flames grew bigger and encompassed the left side of his arm with the hope that it will keep her near. It burned so brightly that it melted the snow off him and truly showed his mother’s beauty. She walks towards him and gently caresses the scar on his face with an apologetic look.
She embraces and picks him up. All he can do is hold on tight, feeling his cold, hunger, and fear melt away as the last star of the night shoots across the sky. He felt safe.
But in the corner at early dawn, sat a poor little boy with red cheeks and a smile leaning against the wall frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. People ran up to him and noticed that he has 2nd to 3rd degree burns on his arm. “Could he have been using his quirk to keep warm?” was one of the questions that were brought up. But there was never any thought of the wonderful things he had seen or at how happy he was to be with his mother again as she carried him away to the beginning of a new year.