#fullcowled

                                                 hesitancy, hesitancy. the steady pace of his heart- rate increases & he knows why but he doesn’t want to. it feels like some bomb, ticking, tempo rising, some impending doom, unchangeable, at his finger tips. how long has it been ? months, now... months that he’s known, that is. he sits with noodles atop the table that separates them & no one has yet to join them in their placement -- to all of his relief. maybe that’s why he thought now, some mediocre moment in which they’re alone, but not alone, drowned out by the voices that murmur around them. no one knew what anyone was saying... not unless they were less than thirty centimeters away from their face.

a light sweat drips against his jaw -- nervousness doesn’t suit him. chopsticks still rest, paired over his bowl, & despite his usual approach, he’s yet to touch his food. his hands are folded in his lap & both eyes divert their attention to some sign, unreadable, on the wall to their left. he lets out a breath & speaks, poses a question of permissions yet to be granted. he wants midoriya -- izuku -- midoriya to have some sense of the seriousness he paints into the air. the silence breaks like shattered glass.