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“You’re not coming?”
Monoma fiddled with the pesty knob attached to his door, then quickly glanced over at the soft voice behind him. “Kuroiro,” he stifled a chuckle, “If you embarrass yourself in front of Komori, I’m sure she won’t pay any mind to whatever you did. That girl is fully convinced your clumsiness is part of who you are.”
His eyes landed back on the door to his dorm. He gave another push and cursed something under his breath when the stupid thing refused to open yet again. Slightly humiliated, he pretended it was intentional and paused to fully look at his friend. “You don’t always need me to watch over you every time you’re around her, I’m sure you handle this on your own just fine.”
Then, his attention went right back to the jammed door. “And,” with one final budge, the door finally swung open, which immediately put a smile on Monoma’s face, “I don’t particularly enjoy playing babysitter. You’re aware I have work to catch up on, right? I simply don’t have time to attend our classroom’s picnic—trust me, I am as disappointed as you are,” he feigned a mocking pout, and then laughed when he was jabbed on the shoulder.
Kuroiro’s pout was real, which Monoma considered a pretty sight upon seeing it. “If she judges me I’m never talking to you again,” he grimaced. He turned to leave, until his eyes shifted towards something inside Monoma’s room. “Since when did you play the violin?”
Monoma’s face dropped, and its immediate change brought a wave of uneasiness Kuroiro didn’t know he had in him. Monoma could feel his breath starting to shift into an unsteady rhythm, followed by a sudden sensitivity to all the noise around him. He squeezed his arm and looked over at Kuroiro with an unsettling stare, “Since yesterday.”
He gave his friend a quick smile and waved him goodbye before he stepped inside and slammed the door shut. Just like that, everything went away, and the world around him fell silent. For a room covered in pastels, Monoma had a tendency to surround it in darkness by rarely ever turning on the lights as he did not regularly come inside unless it was time for bed.
No one’s ever questioned him for that, everyone assumed he did it because he couldn’t keep himself in one place since he had a tendency to talk to people, even in the most random places. They were partially right, Monoma enjoyed a good conversation, but he did it to keep himself busy so that he was never alone with his thoughts. And he was great at running away, until the war happened.
Ever since its conclusion, Monoma has had nightmares almost every night, and they were often about Bakugo. He was forced to relive the moment he died on scene, and with each day that passed, the images would only get worse. Of course, Monoma found a way around this by consistently checking up on the guy, much to his dismay. However, the ones about Monoma’s mother never seemed to go away, no matter how hard he tried to dispose of them.
He went through this before. They initially began the day of her cancer diagnosis, and they naturally worsened after her passing. Monoma had found a way to stop them, a way to bottle the guilt and act like nothing was wrong. But now he is 17, and his problems are nothing like they were before. They’re a never ending reminder of his mistakes, a ghost that plans to stay by his side even after death. For that reason, Monoma holds a new grudge towards Bakugo.
Somewhere deep within his mind, the nightmares about Bakugo found their way to the place that stored away all of Monoma’s awful memories, and together, they infiltrated his thoughts. Monoma grew annoyed by that idea, he never understood why that guy always found a way to be such a nuisance, and he also didn’t understand why he was blaming him in the first place when he knew this was all his fault.
Frustrated, Monoma took a seat by the edge of his bed and covered his face with his hands. This is what happens when he lets his mind wander, and he hates every second of the consequences that follow afterwards. Parting his fingers, he snuck a glance at the violin Kuroiro had pointed out earlier, and sighed. His father had called him the other day about it, said it was a gift and something to remember his mother by.
Monoma’s stomach had twisted at the very mention of her when he picked up that phone call. His family was aware of the fact that Monoma had ignored his mother ever since she started showing symptoms of an untreatable illness; that was at least 7 years of distance until the 3 months before her death, when he had finally gained the courage to visit her in the hospital. They were all worried for Monoma and thought he’d grow distant with the family again, only this time, Monoma pretended it hadn’t affected him.
That was a lie, but Monoma didn’t want to push away his family or else the guilt would only feel heavier. They understood when he informed them that he’d prefer for her to not be mentioned around him at all because he wanted to cope alone, and reassured them that he was more than capable of doing so. But denying a gift? That would have made them suspicious, so Monoma took in anything they gave him.
Over the 2 years since his mother’s passing, Monoma managed to store away all the gifts he had received in a box he’d never open. This violin, however, was a special case. When he was little, his mother used to play the piano for him, and sometimes, his father would join in with this very violin. Their duets had been lovely, and it had convinced Monoma that this was the kind of love no one but them would ever be able to experience, not even himself.
Unfortunately, a week after his mother’s terminal cancer diagnosis, 8-year-old Monoma unleashed a rampage inside his home and broke his mother’s piano in the process. The violin had been spared, and to have it here in his dorm 7 years later was like a slap to the face. This should be at home with his father, it had no place here in the hands of someone who killed its lover. Then again, Monoma was too scared to touch it, and didn't want to experience the disgust he had felt during its trip here a second time.
He glanced over at the instrument one last time, before collapsing on his bed to stare up at the ceiling instead. If he had been honest, none of this would have ever happened. If he had connected with his mother sooner, he wouldn’t be digging himself a deeper grave. But Monoma can’t stand pity, he can’t stand remorse and condolences. Those things have people treat him differently, they have him feeling smaller than he already is. He’s developed a hatred for it ever since the discovery of his quirk.
Monoma never wanted people to suddenly be kind to him because his mother died, he wanted their kindness to occur because he showed them that he’s capable of being a great hero. Even today, he doesn’t want his classmates to be fine with his annoying tendencies just because they’re concerned about his lack of joy. If they want to be mad, he’ll let them be mad. He’s been pushing them away, and he wants them to be angry with him for that, not to go all soft on him like everyone else in his life has done.
Monoma’s breath started to shift aggressively again, and in response, he clutched his shirt and hoped for the pain in his chest to fade away. Because that’s all he does, he runs away and hopes for the best. He never takes the initiative, he allows himself to carry a painful weight because he’s a coward and doesn’t want to rely on anyone. A part of him believes this is his way of hurting himself without directly doing so, and if he were being honest, he doesn’t want to change that.
He’d rather allow himself to drown than ever put in the effort to free himself from the chains he put on a long time ago. Even now, as his breath continues to grow rapidly to the point where he's quietly whining in fear as all of his bad memories flash in his head, he can’t bring himself to do anything about it. This is him punishing himself, this is him letting the guilt gain control of him until it’s done toying with whatever dignity he has left.
And when it’s over, he’ll think about all the things he could’ve done differently, he’ll beat himself up, he’ll allow himself to be angry just this once, and then he’ll cry to his mother about how sorry he is. What he doesn’t allow is for them to grow into full on sobs, instead, he cries silently into his arms and whispers any apology he thinks needs to be addressed until his body gives out and has him feeling numb.
Today, that lasted for about an hour. Though he typically takes hygiene seriously, he’s not in the mood to change out of the sweaty clothes he’s currently laying in, let alone cares enough to wipe whatever mess is on his face. All he can really do at the moment is flicker his eyes to the right, and then to the left, and then to right once more. If anything, he just wants to sleep, let go of all of the pain he’s carrying, forget about his uselessness and sleep—maybe even forever. Monoma doesn’t want to die, at least not yet, but if the building were on fire, he’d stay here and burn.
He slowly raises an eyebrow at his selfishness and mumbles a faint judgmental, “That doesn’t sound like me at all.” Maybe he’d find a way to get his classmates out first, and then he’d stay in the building and burn. Exhausted, Monoma shifts into a sleeping position and glances at the frames on his wall. He’s used to handling his depression alone, but as he looks at the smiles on his family and friends’ faces, he can’t help but feel more alone than ever, and so, so incredibly stupid.
And yet, he knows he will continue to choose himself over them. He doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone, and he doesn’t owe them any information about himself, just like how they don’t have to take care of him when he’s down. He’s close, but not too close. He’s vulnerable, but not too vulnerable. That’s how it’s always been, and how it always will be. Monoma has no plans on changing that. The sound of his phone buzzing in the distance snaps him out of his thoughts, but he chooses to ignore it and instead fall asleep to its tune.
Tomorrow, he’ll convince whoever is calling him that he was working on his homework and had his phone on Do Not Disturb. But then he squeezes his eyes shut in annoyance, because the only person that ever calls him out of nowhere is Shinso, and he’s mentioned to him before that he’s an exception to the Do Not Disturb feature. Unfortunately for Monoma, Shinso reads him like a book, and he’s been frustratingly pushy about his concerns regarding Monoma's mental state lately.
He’s always doing that, bothering Monoma with personal questions or looking at him too fondly. Monoma feels himself growing disappointed, and this time, it’s out of pity for having someone as amazing as Shinso think he’s perfect. He’s not as great as he makes himself out to be, and he’s not exactly sure what Shinso believes he is, but he better shut it down before he gets hurt. Monoma scoffs and turns on his back as he mutters to himself again. “You’re getting too full of yourself, Shinso is merely a close friend who obviously connects with me because of our shared disappointments."
If there was someone out there that genuinely had feelings for Monoma, he’d know by now. Though, he also believes he’d be too uncomfortable to turn them down and would pretend they’re non-existent. He rolls his eyes at the idea—he really is the apathetic person people assume he is. Too distant, too hurtful, too cold. Fully awake now, he quickly moves away from his bed to grab the violin that had been staring at him, checks it out for a moment, and gently tugs at its strings.
When a string breaks, he feels his mouth tremble, and proceeds to cuddle with the violin despite his earlier attempts at holding back as he cries quietly to himself once more. Monoma’s convinced this is the violin’s way of saying it missed him, so he plays the only tune he can remember from childhood to show his gratitude, and this time, the violin stays intact. Now, all he needs is his mother’s broken piano so they can play one final duet.