"Mother, don't ever say you love me," I said coldly.
I felt so indignant with myself. I wish I could have comforted myself from all those sleepless nights, all those wasted panic attacks, and internalized all the ridicule.
She stood there, shocked. I frowned. I walked away. I'm going to go to my room to pack up.
—
I started packing immediately. My hands were shaking as I yanked open the closet and grabbed armfuls of my newer clothes, barely caring if they wrinkled as I stuffed them into the bag. I roughly wiped my face with the back of my hand, smearing away the dampness on my cheeks. I was fuming, heat coiled tight in my chest, my jaw clenched so hard it hurt but I forced myself to swallow it down, to keep it buried under the surface. All I wanted was to be wrapped up in my alpha's arms, to feel that steady warmth and safety and forget everything else for a while.
As the minutes crawled by, the fire in me slowly dulled to a heavy, throbbing ache. My rage cooled, but it left something bitter behind. I was still so deeply, painfully upset with my mother that even thinking about her made my throat tighten.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway, sharp and approaching. My heart lurched. I quickly shoved the bags to the far side of the bed, tucking them out of sight. I smoothed the sheets, kicked stray clothes under the frame, and straightened whatever I could reach in a few frantic seconds. My fingers closed around my phone just in time to make it look like I'd been casually scrolling.
The doorknob turned. She opened the door.
"Honey," she called.
I looked up from my phone, unimpressed with her presence.
"Yes."
"Could you come downstairs?" she asked meekly.
I frowned, 'What is she playing at?' I obliged after some reasoning. I followed behind her. She guided me back to the living room. I sat down. She tried to offer me tea, but I refused. Instead, I looked at the papers laid out on the coffee table.
"What is that?" I asked.
Her smile stiffened ever so slightly. My eyes narrowed at her.
"Just look at these."
I took the papers and studied them. They weren't just forms, they were a catalog of suitors, each one reduced to a short biography and a detached assessment of his suitability for marriage. Every man on the list was over thirty-five. The page slipped from my fingers as if it had scorched my skin.
"What is this?"
"Suitors." She said in all seriousness.
She's gotta be joking. Someone say sike! This woman is insane.
I calmed down. I need to be smart about this. I could feel that if I went off on her, she would never let me out. I cooled my expression.
"Are there younger men?"
"It is best if you marry older."
"Mom, I'm only 16."
"I don't see the problem, you're going to be 17 soon."
My heart was filled with disgust. I had to force the bile down my throat. She is unbelievably. I picked up the papers, acting like I was considering the options. I choose somebody randomly.
"How about him?" I handed one of them to her.
Her eyes sparkled looking at the guy.
"I also thought he would be suitable for you. He's rich and good-looking." She said, admiring the photo.
"My son has good taste like his mom," she jested.
I smiled awkwardly.
She stood up, taking the two cups. She hummed while cleaning the dishes.
"Do you want your favorite today?" She asked.
I shook my head, "I'm just going to go rest."
"Alright." She nodded.
"Oh, Izuku," She called out.
"Get rid of that mate of yours." She said coldly.
I stared at her for a long while.
"I will."
She nodded in satisfaction. Continuing her cleaning. I went back upstairs. I need to finish packing. I spent too much time here. I want to go home.
I couldn't help but daydream about Tomura and me staying in a cozy little house. It wasn't anything extravagant, just big enough for the two of us, with a bit of space left for whatever the future might bring. I pictured us working simple, steady jobs, coming home tired but content. Our days would be quiet and unhurried, filled with small comforts: shared meals at a worn kitchen table, soft laughter echoing down a narrow hallway, the warmth of a lamp glowing late into the night.
Maybe, someday, there would be little ones racing through the rooms, their footsteps tapping against the wooden floors, their laughter spilling into every corner of the house. Toys scattered under the couch, tiny shoes by the door, sleepy heads resting on our shoulders at the end of the day.
That's the life I crave now. I want to keep living, if only to see that gentle future become real.
I entered my room, still fantasizing about our future together. I wanted to be in his arms. I finished packing. Should ask Kurogiri to use his portals. I wanted to smell Tomura's scent. Practically wanted to bask in it.
I finished my packing.
My phone rang. I quickly went to look at the caller ID. It read "Tomura🥀".
I couldn't help but crack a smile. I picked it up.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
I softly chuckled, "I'm alright."
"Are you sure?" He continued.
"Of course, I'm just grabbing a couple of things. I'll be back in a few."
"I'll have Kuroguri make Katsudon." He said softly.
Tears blurred my vision again, hot and unexpected. How could I be this lucky? Why is he so unfailingly good to me?
For so long, all I did was unravel in front of him bitching, moaning, rehashing every disappointment as if my life were nothing but misfortune. I was convinced he'd eventually get fed up and leave. Instead, he only drew closer, answering my chaos with even more affection, even more steady, deliberate care.
"Tomura".
"I love you," I said through my sobs.
"I love you, too."