okay this art is actually so good I started writing something oops. The story as a whole is a bit of a mess, more vibes than anything else, but the general concept is a non-quirk au, set in a british countryside inspired setting - which might seem unconventional, but this art really reminded me of a specific river i’ve been to, even though it doesn’t even quite look the same as what i describe, the image appeared in my head. The scene below is what i’m imagining happening in the picture.
A little bit of context(and i guess sort of content warning): before this scene, touya has just been released from prison after ten years, and whilst having a “heart-to-heart” with shouto, tries to kill himself by jumping off a bridge into the river. Katsuki happens to be passing by, and manages to catch him. This is a sort of… aftermath, and both character’s reactions after going through such a traumatic event.
Autumn is crisp, and unforgiving. It is the discoloured, brittle leaves that wither and fall like dread. The steady decline of temperature, as gentle as a dwindling flame. Colour leached from the sky, turning into a faded sepia photograph, marked with coffee rings and other things people grab onto in a desperate attempt to ward off the cold.
The riverbank is an amalgamation of misshapen rocks, eroded into strange uneven forms. Some protrude from the rushing water, like stepping stones leading from one side to the other, but they are not laid out conveniently enough to be used in that way. The arched stone bridge a little further up is a much more suitable way to cross.
Shouto sits on the edge of the bank, letting his bare feet skim the surface of the water. His arms are wrapped around himself, shoulders hunched and tense as he shivers.
“Does it run in the family, or something?” The voice behind him is gravelly, much like the texture of the rocks he’s sitting on. Although he thought he was alone, he doesn’t flinch - it’s just another sound, like the groaning trees of the forest, the whooshing river.
Shouto huffs, watching his breath turn into smoke, drifting away. There’s a prickling in his eyes - it wasn’t brought on by the cold wind, but certainly is sustained by it. If only tear ducts could be twisted off like a tap.
“You seem to be fucking deadset on getting hypothermia, is all,” Katsuki continues.
Shouto glances upwards. He has to squint for a moment - somehow a grey sky can be so bright, to the point of being painful to look at.
Katsuki stands behind him, hands in his pockets. He’s not looking at Shouto, but at the water, with a shrewd expression. His face is remarkably untwisted, all of the bitterness is restrained to his eyes, just his eyes. Unnaturally red against their muted surroundings.
Shouto thinks he must be bitter, anyway. To have a revelation of just what sort of family he came from in such a brutal way would be horribly jarring. Shouto wishes there was something he could say to erase it all, soak up the murky paint from the canvas, but it is too late now.
“It helps me to feel real. The sensation of the water.” He says faintly, his words not coming from inside of him, but somewhere else, “It’s cold.”
“It’s a fucking deathtrap, is what it is. Where are your shoes?”
Shouto nods at the bridge, “Over there.”
Katsuki sighs, pinching his nose, “That’s not helping your case at all. Stay here, don’t do anything stupid.”
Shouto watches him march off towards the bridge, fog splitting down the path he walks, as if he’s bending it to his will. He wonders if Katsuki looks at him, and sees his brother, diving down towards the water. Euthanasia, Touya had called it.
Shouto’s hardly at that point, right now. His childhood was a maze, but he’s been drawing nearer to the exit. Now he’s in limbo, suspended between hedges. The other side obscured from him. He’s not at an ending, simply a crossroads. But it’s a complicated thing to explain, when he doesn’t quite understand it himself.
Katsuki returns with his battered white trainers, socks scrunched up inside them. He sets them down next to Shouto, in an uncharacteristically mild manner, barely a sound as they touch the rocky surface.
Shouto blinks slowly, savouring the moment when his eyes are closed. A brief respite.
“Put them on,” Katsuki taps his shoulder, “I’ll walk you home.”
“I’m not going home,” Shouto replies, his throat heavy.
“Then don’t. Come stay with me and my annoying parents. There’s a spare bed in the cottage.”
Shouto almost opens his mouth to protest, but somehow, laden down with weariness, he doesn’t manage to. Sure, he doesn’t want to impose, and it’s common courtesy in situations like these to refuse repeatedly, performing a strange conversational ritual before eventually giving in. Shouto does not have the energy for it.
Katsuki is sincere in his offer. He’s withdrawn, less brash than usual. But he’s not attempting to comfort Shouto, he’s not being overbearing. He’s just there.
Shouto lifts his feet out of the river. He puts his shoes back on. He accepts a calloused hand to help him to his feet.
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