Halfway to the Moon

Dusk (Pt. 2)

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 Izuku sat on the edge of his apartment building roof, feet dangling dangerously off the ledge.

 

 He knew he shouldn’t be this close, but the view was stunning. He could see the sun rising steadily higher in the sky, the clouds hanging high above the town and the tops of nearby buildings. Birds soared through the sky, some of them flying low enough Izuku could see the detail of their wings and the sharpness of their talons as they dropped down to snatch small rodents and forgotten leftovers.

 

 Usually, he’d be fawning over the sight and the animals, aching to take notes on all of the little things he noticed, but his admiration was diluted by the coldness sinking in all around him, both mentally and physically.

 

 It’d rained while he slept, leaving him sopping wet and shivering. He’d refused to go back inside the apartment for shelter, choosing to stay up on the roof no matter how cold it got. The sun was bright and warm above him, now, but his clothes remained drenched, clinging uncomfortably to his icy skin. He couldn’t bring himself to care. It was impossible to summon the energy to be frustrated about the rain, about his dead phone, or about the makeup smeared all over his hands from the night before when he was so tired and heartbroken.

 

  He’d thought he’d known what being shattered felt like. He’d lived a life reaching for the stars when his feet were glued to the ground. He lived second to second, hoping that in the next moment maybe something would change. A dancer with broken toes, he was crumbling but unwilling to succumb to the pain. He’d thought he’d already been through the worst of it, that from here, things would only be getting better.

 

 But he was wrong.

 

 He didn’t want to sound ungrateful- All Might had given him more than he could ever possibly ask for, his mother worked hard just to provide him with food and a shelter, and Kacchan, despite not caring, gave Izuku the time of day when no one else their age would.

 

 He was so thankful, to all of them, but it hurt. It hurt so bad to think about. He didn’t even try to comfort himself; it felt pointless to try.

 

  I should just cut my losses and accept the reality instead of trying to hold out for more, Izuku told himself, fingers digging uncomfortably into the concrete building. The tensing of his muscles had ripples of pain prickling up his arms, reminding him of the fresh, small cuts littered across his arms. He frowned, trying to ignore the guilt that flared in his gut.

 

  Kacchan has given me so much, and when he can’t give more, I turn my back on the promise I made him? What kind of friend am I, anyway?

 

 He frowned down at his dangling feet, allowing himself to feel the guilt, the regret.