Chapter Text
He had… a strange fascination with the sea and the ocean, for as long as he remembered. Shinsou Hitoshi was simply entranced by it, even before his quirk came in. It didn't matter if he didn't know how to swim; he always felt the strange compelling urge to submerge himself in saltwater.
Playing and splashing in the shallows made him feel relaxed, at home, at peace. It felt like he belonged , when he was soaked. With salt clinging to his skin. When he was so close to drowning.
The sea and the ocean were the only constant in his miserable life. Hitoshi had been an orphan since he could remember, just like he always remembered craving the open waters. He didn't know if his parents had abandoned him or died. There were so many different scenarios that he pictured in his mind. Different tragedies a loving family could have gone through, leaving him as the sole survivor.
Despite the taunts and jeers of his classmates and fake foster siblings and even adults and teachers, he knew his parents hadn't abandoned him because of his quirk. No matter how much everyone called his voice and brainwashing ability villainous. In fact, he knew his parents knew nothing about his quirk. Just like he knew nothing about them. Not a single clue as to his real heritage, if either of them had a similar ability, nor any family medical history.
He didn't know if they were villains, like some of his foster parents had insisted in hushed whispers.
Hitoshi liked to imagine that his birth giver had been in a rough spot. Either too poor to afford a child, or unable to take care of one. Maybe his parents had been teens, or his egg donor had dropped him off after a rough break up. Maybe that birth giver gave him up to save him from an abusive situation.
Nowadays, he hated to think about that last possibility. Would his birth parents have muzzled him too? Did they genuinely believe that he would find his way into a loving home?
Still, he liked to imagine that one, or both, parents cried as they signed him over to the orphanage. Only leaving him his name. Naively believing he'd be better off, not imaging for a second that most of his life would be spent forced into a muzzle by the adults that were supposed to care.
Maybe they were just dead.
But there was one scenario he always hoped wasn't real though. He heard how some of the adults snickered and called him broken . Not because of his quirk, the brainwashing ability that everyone called villainous and was scared of.
But because he had never been just a boy. Even before he developed his quirk, the workers at some orphanages treated him differently. As if he was an abomination, just because he was born as a boy and a girl. They mocked him and treated him as if his entire existence was perverse. Just because he was intersex. He didn’t mind that all the adults insisted that he identify as a boy and to stay away from the girls. He hated princess dresses and playing dress up anyway. It was a bummer that he couldn’t play with the dolls, but action figures were just as cool.
When his quirk developed, the boys refused to play with him too. But reading was fun, when he wasn’t locked up. It was all he could really do, when he was stuck with bad adults in cruel homes. The ones that muzzled him all the time.
They taught him what a rapist was before he knew what sex was. What kind of adult accused a little kid of growing up to be one?
Hitoshi grew used to it. Numb to the horrors he was forced through. Hours, if not days, locked away into dark closets. Apathetic to the horrible treatment and abuse he was subjected to most of the time. The schools that overlooked the muzzle locked around his face, or the ones that actively encouraged or even assigned him one. He often had cuts on his face from where the damn things cut into his cheeks and chin. He’d likely have scars for the rest of his life.
And yet, he wasn’t angry at the people who tortured him. Hitoshi only had a deep burning rage for the society that not only allowed it to happen, but almost actively encouraged it.
Before his quirk developed, he wanted to be a Pro Hero because they were cool. They saved people and made them happy. He wanted to make people happy too.
But now, he could confidently say that he wanted to be a Hero out of spite . He wanted to claw his way to the top, get into U.A. University, and become one of the best. And finally scream . Scream about all the terrible shit that happened to him, scream about how awful society is, scream about changing the world to be more accepting.
But until then, he was forced to be mute and quiet. His jaw clamped shut, because everyone was scared of his mind control and thought the worst of him.
He was too tired to constantly fight it, so he let all the insults and beatings wash over him. Just took it and accepted the pain.
The only things he found comfort and happiness in were the books he could read and the ocean. His first memory was of the water. He didn’t know who thought it was a good idea to have a toddler on a boat, but he remembered falling off of one. He sunk down into the water, and it felt freezing and warm in all the best ways. It had felt like home . Other than that feeling, the only thing he remembered was a shadow putting him back on the deck and a tiny flash of green asking if he was okay.
Hitoshi didn’t know if it was a real memory or not.
He didn’t really care. The ocean and the beach were the only place he felt like he belonged. He always visited when he just wanted to hide and relax. Hitoshi had a habit of always running away to the nearest beach.
He definitely remembered the first time he ran away from a home. He had just been a little kid. Starved for three days and still new to the hell of his life, he ran and stumbled into a Pro Hero. Gang Orca was the man who broke the first muzzle Hitoshi was forced to wear. The Hero brought wrath down upon those fosters and arrested them, and the purple-haired boy had a sleepover in the agency with the Pro and his Sidekicks until they found him a great home.
A true home that was always loving and kind to him. It would’ve been a forever home, if they hadn’t been killed in a villain attack two years later. The pain of losing those foster parents was made harder by the fact that he had spotted the adoption papers the week prior to the tragedy.
It was a cycle of nightmares after that. Hitoshi would stay at another abusive place until they gave him up, or he ran because he was hungry.
Gang Orca was his favorite Hero, and he associated the man with the ocean, naturally. The waves had calmed him, even before he had been saved by the Hero. They felt like home. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know how to swim. The muzzles would drown him easily, but it was a thought. A call of the void, drowning and having his pain end. Losing his body in the current, because it’s not like anyone would want to bother to burn or bury him when he died.
Drowning was his favorite death to imagine. It was better than being murdered or starving to death.
It was such a temptation. But his spite burned deep too deep, so he pretended to be a seagull instead. Hitoshi would find himself at the nearest beach whenever he ran, stay the night, and wake up the next morning to look as pitiful as possible. Like a seagull trapped in plastic, hobbling to the nearest human to release him. Beg and whine and scratch at the muzzle, and take advantage of what little kindness strangers had to cut off the muzzle. So he could finally eat.
Pro Heroes were often called for him, and it was a familiar routine for him all across Japan. Sleep on the beach, either have a civilian or a Hero remove his mask so he could eat, and be escorted back home. Depending on the Hero, either he would be branded a villain and punished by his fosters, or the bastards would be punished and he’d be placed into a slightly better home that wouldn’t muzzle him.
Until that home decided he was too much trouble, and he got shipped off to another abusive hellhole.
The ocean was the only constant. His only comfort, even if it could easily kill him. The sound was still soothing and calming. He felt safe there. It was the only home that he could keep. The one that stayed, always welcoming.
Of course, Hitoshi and his terrible luck had to fuck up his one and only sanctuary too. The libraries didn’t count, because the librarians would never let him stay overnight.
He was fourteen when that the permanent constant and safe loneliness of the ocean at night was fucked with, never to be the came again.
It seemed like it was going to be a normal night. Standard procedure as he showed up with his packed backpack and empty stomach.
There was a nice little wooden pier on the local beach. He was starving, and somehow sleeping on wood boards instead of on the sand sounded like a much better idea at the time. He minded sand a lot less than others, but it was still rough on his skin.
So, despite the very real possibility of a wave easily drowning him in his sleep, it seemed like the better option to sleep on the pier to his hunger-addled mind. It was night, but he wasn’t tired enough to sleep yet. Insomnia was such a bitch.
Instead, he felt false bravery, as he walked to the very edge of the doc and stared at the dark moving water.
Hitoshi wanted to stick his feet in.
It was a dumb idea, even dumber than sleeping on the pier. He knew better than to get this close to the water when he was too weak from hunger to keep his head above water long enough to haul himself back onto the pier if he slipped. Still, he removed his shoes and peeled off his socks and dunked his feet in. The temperature of the water was great, not frigid like he expected it to be. Well, it was the time of the year for the water to be warmer.
He kicked his feet, like he was a little kid on the swing set. He would've giggled if it wasn't for the stupid fucking muzzle. He felt delirious but safe for once in his miserable life. Carefree and happy for a moment. He splashed about without a care in the world and enjoyed the moment.
Then, Hitoshi felt something curl around his ankle, and he was yanked roughly into the water.