Chapter Text
He slowly walks to school, star-shaped burn scars just barely peeking out from under the sleeves of his jacket. He doesn't know if he wants to hide them so that no one would ever see them or scream and shove them in the faces of strangers on the street, just so they would care, even for a second.
But they wouldn't care. One look at his red sneakers and any compassion for the child in front of them would be gone as if it was never there, so he curls in on himself and pulls up the collar of his turtleneck, hiding away the other patches of burnt skin.
He walks past the same construction site he does every single day and can't remember the day something else was here. He used to try walking around it, afraid of the dust clouds causing lung damage, but somewhere along the way, he stopped caring.
Just across the street lies the land of the less fortunate: the poor, the disabled, the quirkless. Those society has deemed unneeded or unworthy. Those who can still find a job that pays enough to survive live in cramped apartments, while those who lack physical ability or something society deems essential are left to endure living on the street.
He nods to those few of them who notice him. He doesn't know their names or stories, nor do they know his, but the shoes on their feet are the same, so they don't need to. They both know it's only a matter of time before he ends up just like them. Thrown away, left to rot.
His ears are ringing. They've been ringing since he woke up. It's one of those days where he can barely register the surrounding world, barely even feels human, closer to watching life pass by from behind a screen than piloting his own body.
Nobody tries to trip him or start a fight in the hallway. They just laugh and sneer. It's not better, but he doesn't have to take care of his injuries at home this way. He stumbles into class before the bell rings but knows the teacher will mark him late anyway.
There's another bouquet on his desk. He swipes the crimson flowers into his backpack, ignoring how his eyes are wetter than usual. He's just having a bad day. The pain will pass.
He sits down and school starts to pass by. Occasionally, someone will kick his chair or bump into him on their way out, but he’s been through worse.
There’s static in his ears. Weren’t they ringing before? The buzzing in his head grows louder by the minute, and he can barely hear his thoughts. He feels like he’s burning up but he’s shivering. Still, his pencil darts across the paper, taking meticulous notes, always three words ahead of his teacher.
By the time he stumbles out of class, he almost forgets where he is, a shadowy vignette covering most of his vision. His head hurts, the voices of the people around him coming through as if he were underwater, loud and muffled. As he makes it home, he only bothers to throw off his shoes at the door before collapsing into bed, hoping that maybe some sleep will ease the migraine.
Rest does not come easy for him, and he tosses and turns for what feels like hours before sleep does eventually take him, but he does wake up two hours later, the buzzing still there, but just barely. A cup of hot tea puts an end to that. He sits down at his table, working on next week’s homework.
As seven o’clock rolls around, his mother is still not home, so he assumes she’s out drinking again. It's a common occurrence and that fact is the only thing left to soothe his bitter pain. He used to try to come up with apologies for her, trying to justify why she could not - or did not want to - be around him, but, like with everything else in his life, he eventually gave up. She was supposed to be his mother, the one person in the world who would love and care for him no matter what, but even she would rather stay away. Still, she could have been much worse, so he pours another cup and pulls out his phone, analyzing today’s hero fights, intent on ignoring the pain around him. It's not like he can do much about it anyway. He still grips the cup's handle like he wants to crush it into dust.
Time passes by. The next time he looks out the window, it's already dark. Storm clouds are gathering in the skies above, and the lights on the streets below him have turned on. He sighs, knowing that his midday nap probably ruined this night of sleeping. His fingers ache from holding the pencil for so long. He still has not eaten. His stomach is rumbling, but he can't bring himself to do it.
He shuffles over to his room, taking all his belongings with him. The walls are covered in posters and merchandise, purchased with whatever cash he could scrape together. Most of the time the heroes on the wall are reassuring and inspiring, but in the pale moonlight that shines through the window, their hollow poses and empty smiles feel eerie and soulless.
He pulls out his phone, and opens the first video he ever downloaded. He's watched it thousands of times by now, every frame, face and falling rock burned into his memory. Clouds of smoke blown apart by a single punch, frightened expressions fading to confusion and then relief, and a booming voice that always got him to smile.
"Have no fear."
"Why?
"Because I AM HERE!"
He replays the video a few times, a small smile on his face, and returns to his work, not stopping until he considers it satisfactory. When he gets up, he doesn't bother looking at the clock - the tea ran out a long time ago and the time isn't going to change just because he looked at it. He quitely takes off his school uniform and climbs into bed.
He falls asleep counting something. Days until graduation, maybe?