[He knows it's shitty. He does. But it's easier said than done to break the cycle that he knows he's... fucking supposed to break, when he's already gotten himself caught in the damn thing without even realizing it at first. It ain't like he's got a book on this shit to consult, or any damn experience in opening up or what-the-fuck ever... or staying open. It's his comfort zone, it's what he knows. Compartmentalize his shit on his own, grit and bare and move the fuck on.
But it's not helping. If anything, it's making everything worse. At this point, his avoidance has had more to do with not worrying Ochako with how far his corruption has come in a short time. It's not a good reason or even a valid excuse--not that he's trying to excuse that either, it goes directly against everything they'd come to understand with each other in Nippon. But it's just... really fucking hard to break out of the snowball effect when he's gotten himself in that deep.
Katsuki knows he's fucking it up. He does. That's why, despite the fact that he really wants to go straight back out to the beach to practice with his quirk until every muscle screams at him to stop, he's home tonight. Sitting at the kitchen table, poking chopsticks at the leftovers they have for dinner as he just glowers at the food like it's at fault for everything.
Trying to do better. Keep his word and at least fucking BE there.
The sound of the door is there, but it doesn't make Ochako's voice any less jarring to hear. It's that unwelcome sense of fucking guilt that has his back and shoulders tensing, has him clenching his jaw as he just shoves some rice over across the plate, and then back again.] ... 'm here.
[Setting down the chopsticks--he's not hungry and honestly has spent the last few days choking down meals because of his lack of appetite, Katsuki turns to look at the doorway he knows she's about to come through. Bracing himself for the awful worried look on her face that'll show up the second she sees him, because unsurprisingly? He still looks like shit. The bruise across his nose and under his eyes hasn't healed like it should have by now, and he's even more pale than he was the day before.
Knowing full well just how he's gonna be perceived, he finds it easier to just. Glimpse her in the doorway as a sort of greeting and turn back to his plate. Picking the utensils up again to gesture to the fridge with his words, before resuming his mission in nudging the shit around aimlessly.] There's still some left.
ahem, in seriousness tho
But it's not helping. If anything, it's making everything worse. At this point, his avoidance has had more to do with not worrying Ochako with how far his corruption has come in a short time. It's not a good reason or even a valid excuse--not that he's trying to excuse that either, it goes directly against everything they'd come to understand with each other in Nippon. But it's just... really fucking hard to break out of the snowball effect when he's gotten himself in that deep.
Katsuki knows he's fucking it up. He does. That's why, despite the fact that he really wants to go straight back out to the beach to practice with his quirk until every muscle screams at him to stop, he's home tonight. Sitting at the kitchen table, poking chopsticks at the leftovers they have for dinner as he just glowers at the food like it's at fault for everything.
Trying to do better. Keep his word and at least fucking BE there.
The sound of the door is there, but it doesn't make Ochako's voice any less jarring to hear. It's that unwelcome sense of fucking guilt that has his back and shoulders tensing, has him clenching his jaw as he just shoves some rice over across the plate, and then back again.] ... 'm here.
[Setting down the chopsticks--he's not hungry and honestly has spent the last few days choking down meals because of his lack of appetite, Katsuki turns to look at the doorway he knows she's about to come through. Bracing himself for the awful worried look on her face that'll show up the second she sees him, because unsurprisingly? He still looks like shit. The bruise across his nose and under his eyes hasn't healed like it should have by now, and he's even more pale than he was the day before.
Knowing full well just how he's gonna be perceived, he finds it easier to just. Glimpse her in the doorway as a sort of greeting and turn back to his plate. Picking the utensils up again to gesture to the fridge with his words, before resuming his mission in nudging the shit around aimlessly.] There's still some left.