Chapter 8: Said I don’t wanna talk just go away
The slam echoed long after Kyoshi’s hand recoiled from the wall. Plaster dust drifted down like fine snow onto Izuku’s shoulder. The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, broken only by Kyoshi’s ragged breathing inches from his face and the frantic drumbeat of Izuku’s own heart against his ribs. The imprint of Kyoshi’s knuckles glared white against the paintwork beside his head.
Izuku couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The wall pressed cold against his spine, the only solid thing in a world tilting violently. Kyoshi’s eyes, dark pools of fury moments before, now held a terrifying stillness. The heat of his anger radiated off him, a physical force pushing against Izuku’s skin.
"You think they don’t see you flinching?" Kyoshi’s voice was a low scrape, devoid of its earlier charm, stripped raw. "You think I don’t notice how you tremble?" His gaze raked over Izuku’s face, lingering on the carefully concealed cheekbone, then dropping pointedly to the arm Izuku instinctively cradled against his chest. "Every twitch. Every hesitation. Like a frightened rabbit."
Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. Not real. This isn’t him. Not the real Kyoshi. The Kyoshi who brought him coffee in bed. Who laughed until he cried at bad movies. Who held him tight after nightmares. That Kyoshi was buried beneath this… this terrifying stranger radiating menace.
Kyoshi leaned in closer, his breath hot and sour against Izuku’s ear. The scent of his expensive cologne, usually comforting, now choked him. "You’re mine, Izuku." The whisper was soft, intimate, laced with venom. "Always. Every flinch, every lie you tell them… it’s a betrayal. You understand that?"
A whimper escaped Izuku’s lips before he could stifle it. He felt tears pricking, hot and treacherous. Don’t cry. Don’t make it worse. He nodded jerkily, his throat too tight for words. The framed photo on the nightstand – their smiling faces at the beach last summer – seemed to mock him from across the room.
Kyoshi pulled back slightly, studying him. The fury seemed to recede, replaced by a chilling calculation. He sighed, a sound of weary exasperation. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice softening unnervingly. He reached out, not to strike, but to gently brush a stray tear from Izuku’s cheekbone with his thumb. Izuku flinched violently anyway, bracing for impact that didn’t come. Kyoshi’s hand hovered for a second, then dropped.
"I hate seeing you like this," Kyoshi said, his tone shifting towards something resembling regret. "Scared. Jumpy. It hurts me, bunny. You know that?" He ran a hand through his own perfectly styled hair, a gesture of frustration. "This morning… the coffee… I lost my temper. The presentation… Tanaka-san breathing down my neck…" He shook his head. "It’s no excuse. I know that. I’m sorry."
The apology landed like a physical blow. It was always the apologies that fractured Izuku’s resolve. They were the hooks that snagged his hope, pulling him back from the precipice of leaving. He’s sorry. He knows. He hates it too. The good Kyoshi flickered back into existence, overlaying the terrifying one.
"It… it’s okay," Izuku whispered, the words ash in his mouth. He forced his eyes open, meeting Kyoshi’s gaze. He saw the familiar warmth struggling to surface beneath the lingering storm clouds. "It was stressful. I… I startled you."
Kyoshi’s expression softened further. He cupped Izuku’s face gently this time, his thumb tracing the edge of the concealed bruise. Izuku held himself rigid, fighting the instinct to pull away. "You did," Kyoshi murmured. "But that’s no reason…" He sighed again, deeply. "Look at me. Really look." His eyes searched Izuku’s, projecting sincerity. "I love you. More than anything. You know that, right? This… this ugly part… it’s not me. It’s the pressure. The world. It gets inside sometimes. Makes me… not myself."
Izuku nodded mutely. The pressure. The world. It was easier to blame the abstract. Safer than acknowledging the darkness lived inside Kyoshi, waiting for a trigger.
"I just want to protect you," Kyoshi continued, his voice thick with emotion now. "Keep you safe. Happy. Sometimes… sometimes I see how fragile you are, how the world could hurt you… and it makes me…" He trailed off, shaking his head as if unable to articulate the monstrous impulse. "I get scared for you. And it comes out wrong. So wrong." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Izuku’s. "Forgive me? Please?"
The proximity was suffocating. The scent of cologne, sweat, and plaster dust mingled. Izuku could feel the tremor in Kyoshi’s hands where they framed his face. The plea sounded genuine. Desperate, even. The good Kyoshi was pleading with him. He needs me. He’s hurting too.
"I… I forgive you," Izuku breathed, the words barely audible. A traitorous tear escaped, tracing a path down his temple.
Kyoshi exhaled, a shuddering breath of relief. He pressed a soft kiss to Izuku’s forehead, then another to the concealed bruise. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick. "My good bunny. My sweet Izuku." He pulled back slightly, his gaze sweeping over Izuku’s face again, lingering on the tear track. "Now," he said, his tone shifting back towards practicality, though gentler now. "Let’s get you sorted. You look exhausted. And…" His eyes flicked pointedly to Izuku’s arm. "Let me see that bump."
Panic flared anew. "No! It’s… it’s fine, Kyoshi. Really. Just a bruise. Like I said." Izuku tried to pull his arm tighter against his body.
"Don’t be silly," Kyoshi said, his voice firm but not harsh. He reached for the hem of Izuku’s t-shirt sleeve. "If it’s bad, maybe ice…" He pushed the thin cotton fabric up Izuku’s arm, past the elbow.
The forming bruises glared back at them. Two distinct ovals, deep purple blooming into angry red at the edges, stark against Izuku’s pale skin. The imprint of Kyoshi’s thumb and fingers was unmistakable.
Kyoshi froze. His expression didn’t change dramatically, but a stillness settled over him. The brief flicker of warmth vanished, replaced by something cold and assessing. He traced the edge of one bruise with a fingertip, feather-light. Izuku shuddered.
"Just… bumped the counter?" Kyoshi asked, his voice dangerously quiet. He didn’t look up from the bruises.
Izuku swallowed. "Yes."
"Hmm." Kyoshi’s fingertip pressed down, just slightly, on the darkest part. Izuku hissed, jerking his arm instinctively. Kyoshi’s grip tightened instantly, holding him fast. Not painfully, but with absolute control. "Looks… precise," Kyoshi murmured, his gaze finally lifting to meet Izuku’s. There was no anger now. Just a chilling, analytical detachment. "For a bump."
He held Izuku’s gaze for a long, silent moment. The air crackled with unspoken accusation. Izuku felt pinned, dissected. He knows I lied. He knows it was him. But admitting it… that felt like stepping off a cliff.
Kyoshi released his arm abruptly. He smoothed the sleeve back down with deliberate care, his touch impersonal. "Well," he said, his voice regaining its normal timbre, though devoid of warmth. "Be more careful, bunny. Clumsiness doesn’t suit you." He stepped back, adjusting his suit jacket, the movement crisp and efficient. The moment of vulnerability, the apology, seemed sealed away. "I need to get back. Tanaka-san won’t wait forever."
He walked towards the bedroom door, pausing only to pick up his briefcase from where he’d dropped it earlier. The click of the latch was loud in the silence. He didn’t look back.
"Rest," he called over his shoulder, his tone final. Commanding. "I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up."
The front door opened and closed with decisive finality. The lock engaged with a heavy, echoing click.
Izuku remained pressed against the wall, the ghost of Kyoshi’s grip still burning on his arm, the phantom pressure of his thumb on the bruise. The scent of cologne lingered, cloying and oppressive. The cheerful bedroom lamps cast warm pools of light on the patchwork quilt, on the smiling faces in the beach photo. The silence roared in his ears, thick with the residue of fury, the echo of an apology that already felt hollow, and the chilling weight of a lie hanging, undisputed, in the air. He slid slowly down the wall, the cool floor tiles pressing against his legs, and buried his face in his trembling hands. The temporary safety of Kyoshi’s absence felt like the eye of a hurricane – a fragile, terrifying calm before the inevitable storm circled back.