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smoltododorki · 7 years

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A DECADE AND COUNTING

TODODEKU WEEK: DAY 2

BEACH

“Some things are destined to be—it just takes a couple of tries to get there.” J.R. Ward, Lover Mine

AO3

credit to @bakvbabe, for letting me use the goblin au!!!

Shouto’s mother had loved the beach.

She often took Shouto out on walks along the shoreline after meeting with “Grandma” Chiyo at the bridge, where the old woman would sell all kinds of greens—his mother, of course, got the best discounts, as she was the favourite customer and Chiyo’s main source of income. Shouto had known Grandma Chiyo all his life, up until he was nine years old, at least. Chiyo wasn’t his grandparent by blood, but she was fond enough of the pair that blood significance didn’t really matter.

The feeling was mutual.

Near the deck, they would talk about nothing and everything, about the grains of sand underneath their feet and the honking boats several meters away. She would laugh when Shouto made the most obvious observations, but not in a demeaning manner—her laugh was proud, as though she were glad for Shouto’s questioning nature.

“If we were still with his father,” His mother had once uttered to Grandma Chiyo, at the bridge, when she had thought that Shouto was fast asleep on her shoulder. “He wouldn’t be nearly as openly inquisitive.”

Shouto hadn’t understood what she meant—not until his mother died and he was forced back into the custody of his father, where questions were invalid and responses were tailored to Enji’s fit.

Shouto loved—and still loves—the beach, but he hadn’t visited in a long time.

Maybe it was because of the wistful memories he had of his mother, painful to recall and evaluate. Shouto doubts it—he desperately wants to keep remembering, to cherish all the memories he could find of his mother, just in case he forgets. The beach was where all their best memories had been made, aside from at their old house.

His mother had laughed with him there.

Cried with him there.

Built sand castles with him there.

He had even got to pet a puppy; nevermind his mother’s distressed glances, and passerby’s odd looks and whispers of “There’s nothing there—what on earth is he supposed to be petting?”

For as long as Shouto could remember, he could see things which weren’t supposed to be seen, things even his mother, whom was, to Shouto, the wisest of them all, couldn’t see. People often pitied them, because Shouto was known for being a bit of a loony.

Despite their whispers, Shouto was glad he could see ghosts.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to see his mother again, even if it was just her soul. Her real body had been in a hospital, lifeless, and on the way to the morgue.

Shouto didn’t think he would have wanted to visit a body—that’s what funerals were for.

Even back when his mother had still been alive, she never got frustrated with Shouto and his ability to see ghosts, as it never got in the way of their relationship, Shouto’s happiness, nor with his studies and school.

The day his mother died, Shouto had aced his English test. He’d gotten a sticker and a smiley face, and Shouto couldn’t remember feeling any prouder, especially excited to show his mother—not knowing she was dead—how well he had done.

Nowadays, Shouto could barely remember his elementary school—he couldn’t even remember the last time he went out. He had been homeschooled ever since he arrived at the Todoroki household; nine years old, scared and scarred but ready to keep going.

“You must go live with your father,” Grandma Chiyo had said, after his mother’s soul left the realm, tenderly brushing his hair and hand hovering over the painful-looking burn that had formed on Shouto’s face—a result of the burning house just meters away from them.

It had been his birthday, and he and his mom had wanted to celebrate. Not long after Shouto realized his mother wasn’t so much his mother, as she was a soul, the candles took a life of their own, intending on taking the remaining occupants within the house to the afterlife.

They hadn’t accounted for Grandma Chiyo’s intervention. She had stormed into the burning building and dragged Shouto out of the house, only taking his mother’s beloved red scarf with them.

Perhaps the flames were initially an intervention too, but for Shouto’s—a so-called missing soul’s—death.

“The Grim Reaper won’t be able to find you if you move.” Chiyo had said, eyes lingering over the spot where the Grim Reaper had disappeared into black smoke, after promising that he and Shouto would meet again with a warning of, “Death will find you, Todoroki Shouto.”

It wasn’t hard to remember the nameless Grim Reaper, with his transparent rectangle glasses and expressive hands. He had tried to collect Shouto’s soul—“You were due nine years ago,”—but Grandma Chiyo had fiercely intervened, insisting that Shouto wasn’t on any list.

Only an unborn, nameless baby was.

“Your father will find you at the funeral,” Grandma Chiyo had said, her withered hands falling onto Shouto’s trembling shoulders, gripping tightly. “You must go with him… you will suffer a little, but you will be safe.”

Safe.

Ten years had passed, and Shouto supposed he was safe.

Death hadn’t literally come knocking on his door yet.

But Shouto was far from happy.

Shouto wants to visit the beach.

He would be off to college soon, once his “senior” year (or the equivalent of it, anyway) wrapped up, and Shouto was stressed. The exams themselves weren’t a problem—it was what came before and afterwards.

It was the first time Shouto would be stepping out of his home after ten years, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for the abrupt change. At nine years old, it was easy to adapt to the deafening quiet of the hallways, the quiet chatter of his siblings—when they visited, that is, as they lived with other relatives—and the sharp vibrato of his father’s cutting tone.

He wasn’t sure if he could handle melding into society again. While ghosts kept him company, they weren’t exactly the most up to date with things, and Shouto felt hopeless in the age of technology.

It would be easiest to go to the beach first. The usual ghosts at the Todoroki household promised to leave him alone for once, after their usual ramblings about him being the “goblin’s bride” or whatever that meant. Shouto knew they weren’t trying to mess with him, as the ghosts—especially Momo and Jirou—were fond of him.

“Never thought the bride would be a guy,” Jirou had muttered, when they had first met. Momo had viciously elbowed her.

“Don’t worry about the textbook meaning too much,” Momo had told him, consolingly. Shouto had been eleven and confused, wondering why so many ghosts kept hounding him about being a bride. “It’s more of a title, if anything.”

During the days where his father would lock him in a closet for several hours whenever he couldn’t get that one question correct, Momo would sneak in food for him, and Jirou would sing him soft lullabies. She stole an mp3 player once for him, insisting that the woman she had taken it from was an asshole anyway.

Momo had forcibly made Jirou return it later, only to come back with a newly purchased mp3 player. “I saved up some cash I found on the streets,” She had explained, with a sheepish smile. “I had to possess someone to actually buy it, but I think it was for the right reasons.”

Shouto still had the mp3 player, to this day. He kept it on his person like a good luck charm.

The ghosts were Shouto’s friends, and the only people he had been in contact with for the past decade. He treasured them dearly, but as much as he appreciated their company, he wanted them to return to the afterlife.

Momo and Jirou would certainly end up in a good place. They didn’t deserve to deal with Shouto’s crap all the time.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay out there?” Momo asks, the ever-concerned sister figure. “It’s been a deca—”

Jirou slaps Momo’s back, sending Shouto a thumbs up. “You’ll be fine, kiddo. If anyone tries to hurt you, tell us, ya hear?”

Shouto manages a tiny smile. He picks up a lone silver key from his bedside table—his father had given it to him the day before, gruffly telling him he needed to get used to locking and unlocking the door himself.

Shouto wouldn’t have known how to, having been locked up in the Todoroki household for the past ten years.

While Shouto has tried to escape from the house before with Momo and Jirou’s help, there were security cameras everywhere, and the caretakers watched over Shouto like hawks. It was difficult to find privacy, even in such a nauseatingly vast place.

“I hear,” Shouto says, starting to pack his backpack with various snacks. Momo stops him.

“We got something for you,” Momo says, “Take it before you leave.”

When Shouto turns around to give his friends proper attention, he sees it—Jirou cradling a red velvet cake, with the words “Happy 19th Birthday Shouto!!!” scrawled in white icing. Nineteen red and white candles stood in the center, like proud towers atop a large field.

“I had to possess someone again,” Jirou says, sheepishly, “Sorry.”

Shouto feels his throat tighten. He takes the cake from Jirou with trembling hands. “Thank you.”

Momo pats his shoulder. “Eat it at the beach and leave no evidence. We don’t want your dad to get on your case about spending money uselessly.”

Shouto had been given a meagre allowance of twenty dollars for the week; he wasn’t allowed to eat anything from the cooks, and was supposed to figure out how to salvage as much cash as he could while making sure he didn’t starve to death.

His father had said it was so Shouto could get a taste of the real world—never mind that Enji had been the one to isolate him in the first place.

Seeing as ghosts didn’t exist, Enji would think Shouto had been the one to purchase the cake, and that Shouto had wasted all his money on it.

As punishment, Shouto would end up spending the night in the solitude of the closet.

Shouto nods, hastily blinking away tears. He wouldn’t cry over cake. He wouldn’t. “I will.”

Jirou lightly shoves at his chest. “Off you go—we’ll make sure other ghosts don’t follow you, alright?”

Shouto sets the cake down on a nearby table. He pulls Momo and Jirou into a tight embrace. “Thank you.”

For everything.

Momo and Jirou hug him back, with just as much fervour.

It’s drizzling

In a matter of minutes, it will probably start pouring.

Shouto was sitting at the edge of a dock—the same dock he and his mom liked to walk along, so long ago—his hood raised and his body hunched over as he fruitlessly tries to cover the tiny cake.

I should light it now, he thinks, before the rain gets worse.

Shouto pulls out a match, forcing down his anxiety. He strikes it far away from his left side.

He may have a slight fear of fire—of lit candles, especially.

It was hard not to remember the sensation of flames licking up the expanse of his skin, burning and scorching and searing.

Shut up, Shouto tells himself, it’s been a decade. You can’t be afraid of these tiny flames forever.

He hovers the match over each candle, wincing as they all catch fire easily.

After securing the little cake on his lap, he clasps his hands together.

For the first time in ten years, he prays.

Shouto was never much of a religious person, but he did like to think there was something out there. In the dead of the night, whenever Shouto was feeling restless, his mother would tell him about the story of a kind deity who had taken pity on her, long ago.

“A car hit me and drove off—I was supposed to die,” She had said, “I was pregnant with you, and I… I knew that I wanted you to be saved, at least.” Smiling beatifically, she had run her slender fingers through the soft strands of Shouto’s hair. “Your Grandma Chiyo once told me that, in desperate situations, especially in life or death, to ask for help. Scream if you have to, because someone is always listening.”

Shouto, five years old and scared—his mother had just told him she nearly died—had taken a bated breath. “Did you… did you plead?”

His mother had smiled sadly. “I barely remember. I just know that I didn’t want my baby boy to die, especially since I had yet to meet him—to meet you.” She had then kissed Shouto’s forehead, tugging him into a light embrace. “Someone answered my calls. It was a man, I think, in his mid twenties. His face had a lot of freckles.” Leaning down, she had whispered in Shouto’s ear, as though she were uttering a secret. “Even so, he didn’t seem human.”

He didn’t seem human.

Shouto clasps his hands tighter, wrenching his eyes shut. He could hear the crashing waves in the distance, and the pitter patter of the drizzle.

It wasn’t enough to take out the flames of the candles.

Shouto inhales deeply.

I don’t know what I’m doing—I might be completely out of my mind right now.

I don’t know if there’s really anyone out there, but my mother was—is—never wrong.

This isn’t a life or death situation. I think I’m in good health.

But I’m getting desperate.

I have three requests, if you would please listen.

I ask for the strength to break away from my father’s radar. I do not wish to work under him, as he wants me to. He controls every aspect of my life, and because of him, there is much I don’t know about the world. He trained me to take orders, to solve tough math equations and write long, comprehensive essays, but not to be innovative and make my own judgements. I am terribly naïve in a lot of aspects. I do not know how to interact with those I have not known for a long time. I wish to be educated in the mundane, but in order to do so, I must separate myself from my father’s grasp. I wish to be my own person.

That being said, I ask for the courage to partake in a part-time job. I need to start making money if I want to move out, and I can regain my lack of social experience there. A fast food place is fine. I just need to be exposed to other people in a condensed place, so I won’t be too overwhelmed. I know it’s frivolous to ask for things on a silver platter, so I am only asking for any of my internal fears to not get in the way of whatever job I must take up in the future. Ten years is a lot to make up for.

Finally, I ask for the company of a friend. Momo and Jirou are amazing, but they won’t always be there. They will go to the afterlife sooner or later, and once they’re gone, I will be alone. I am selfish and I do not want to be alone, but I am not picky. They do not even have to be human—a dog or cat would be fine too.

Thank you for listening. I apologize for causing any inconvenience.

Shouto opens his eyes. The candles stare back at him.

He feels stupid.

To whom was he praying to?

To whom had his mother prayed to, all those years ago?

The wind picks up. Waves crash.

Shouto leans over his cake, blowing out all the tiny flames. Only a small cloud of smoke remains.

“Did you summon me?”

Shouto nearly jumps. He turns his head.

A man was standing behind him. He had a mess of unruly green locks, impossibly green eyes, and a sea of freckles.

So many freckles.

The man smiles at him, glancing past his shoulders, holding out a clump of flowers between heavily scarred fingers.

It softens the horrific sight of the hilt of a massive sword poking out from his chest.

Was this man a ghost? He couldn’t be—he had a shadow.

“I see it’s your birthday today,” The man says, pointedly looking at the cake, “Nineteen, huh?”

“Who are you?” Shouto asks. He isn’t as fearful as he thought he would have been—this was the first person he’d talked with, outside of his household, in ten years.

“I guess you can call me a guardian of sorts,” The strange man says, “I’m normally the one who approaches mortals, but this is the first time I’ve actually been summoned—how did you do it?”

“I… don’t quite know what you’re talking about,” Shouto says, hesitantly.

The man hums. “You made a wish, didn’t you?”

“Pardon?”

“To summarize it—you are very thorough with your words, you know that? —you want something to be done about your father, you want a job, and a… friend?”

Okay, Shouto thinks.

This is normal.

“Are you a deity?” Shouto asks, “Did you… did you hear me?”

“Your prayer was very structured and honest,” The man says, “Much better than the scramble of incoherent words I hear nowadays, though they have their own charm too.”

Shouto stays silent.

“You’re the only person here,” The man says, “So you must be the person who summoned me. Did you do a ritual or something?”

Shouto is lost. “I blew out candles,” He glances down at the melted wax laying on the surface of the cake. “After I made a wish.”

The man balances on the heels of his feet. “That could work.” He glances at the cake again, then back at Shouto. His brows furrow. “Why can’t I see it?”

“See what?”

“Your age ten, twenty years from now.”

Shouto blinks. “Maybe it’s because I have no future.”

Perhaps the Grim Reaper will find him soon, and take him to the afterlife. Maybe his mom will meet with him there—that is, if he was good enough to be in paradise too.

The man blinks. “You’re rather pessimistic.”

“Sorry,” Shouto says.

The man sits down next to Shouto. He holds out the flowers. “You can take them.”

Shouto stares blankly at the man. “Why?”

“They suit you more.” The man drops them in Shouto’s hands.

“What are they?” Shouto asks.

“Buckwheat flowers.”

“What do they mean?”

The man smiles. He stands up. “Your father won’t be an issue soon—you can say goodbye to him. You will be getting a job at the library. It’s quieter, but you will still be able to interact with others as you wish. As for your friend…” He stares off into the ocean. “…you’re endearing. You’ll find one soon.”

He pats Shouto’s shoulder, before disappearing into a cloud of green flames.

Shouto stares down at his new flowers, feeling hope renew in his chest.

The next time Shouto goes to the beach, he has a flower guide—handwritten, crafted by an old florist who had died years ago, and was tucked into the far corner of the library—in one hand, and the buckwheat flowers in the other.

After flipping through several pages, in awe of the hyper-realistic sketches of each flower type, Shouto finds it—the buckwheat flower.

He skims through the definition and its origins, moving onto the symbolism section.

There is only one word.

Lover.

#tododekuweek #day 2 #the goblin au #tododeku #beach

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