making up my own fuyumi rn because lord knows the actual todoroki family has been disappointing me lately (never shouto ofc)
it's summer and i'm once again thinking about what it means to be siblings. where one ends and the other starts, where the memories blur together and you're not quite sure which of you did what because there's a certain point in your childhood where your siblings are extensions of your own body, of your own mind. maybe it lasts. maybe it doesn't.
but it happened, nonetheless. we were there.
and how confusing it is, to be the last one home. when everything's silent and the spaces they used to fill are empty and they're a phone call away but it's just not the same and the words seem to die in your mouth, melting on your tongue with the distinctive taste of loneliness.
it's not going to be the same, ever again.
and so. how hurtful, for fuyumi, to have all but raised that child. to have been shouto's only female figure. and to wake up one day and help him pack his bags and watch him walk away. watch him live somewhere else, eat at another table and sleep in a bed she's never made, somewhere that fuyumi has never touched. somewhere they've never existed together.
(how do other people go through life as one? I've been four and then everyone told me i should be three but how do you do that? how do you move past your sibling? i'm four, still. i don't know how to be anything else.)
how awful. how awful to know that they're gone. both of them. how terrible, to be cooking and cleaning only to stop. suddenly aware of the silence. suddenly aware, i'm the only one home.
(i still cook too much food, i still pack it away neatly. i still think you'll come home for lunch. because how could you not? i was born knowing you. how am i supposed to understand your absence?)
it's summer and there's fresh fruit in the kitchen and no one to eat it with me. i used to count every piece so that we could share them fairly. used to think one, two, three, four, five, six so it's two for each of us.
(they need to be cut in smaller pieces. there's not enough for the four of us. except.)
count every last slice with too sticky fingers, so that they won't whine that you got more. and then share it. share every last bite because you've never known a world where fruit was eaten all by yourself.
it's summer and you've never known a world where your siblings aren't by your side.
(it's summer and fuyumi is the last one home. there's fruit, sitting on the counter, and she can't bring herself to reach for it. it's too much, it's far too much for just one person.)
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I've always found it surreal how some cis people will suddenly start to treat you after they learn you're trans. like the way they'll go from speaking to you completely normally one second to casually asking you the most awkward, invasive questions the next. with zero self-awareness about how weird it is to ask someone else questions like that, even though they'd know better if they were talking to another cis person. it reminds me of this one xkcd comic with the graph that's like "proximity to cat/inanity of statements"
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