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[44] What Tears Mean
🕑 Added 2025-05-30 16:56:06 +0000 UTC(Momo POV – Shopping Mall, Restaurant)
I'm surprised. I didn't expect him to accept.
'I can't waste this opportunity, but even if he says it's fine, I can’t just jump into it. I’ll have to slowly ease into what I want to know.'
I take a soft breath and relax my posture.
"I noticed you've seemed... happier since Eri showed you her outfit. Did you like it that much? She was so excited to show you," I say with a warm smile.
His smile widens just a little. “Yeah. I was happy to see it.”
"So happy you were moved to tears?" I tease gently.
Still, I doubt it was just that. Kata wouldn’t cry over something so simple. There had to be more behind it.
He lets out a light sigh, eyes rolling slightly. “Why do I have a feeling I’ll be teased about that for a while?”
I giggle. “Maybe you will. I expected you to be happy since Eri looked adorable, and you clearly love her, but I didn’t expect tears.”
He goes quiet for a beat. His eyes shift, becoming distant. “...I didn’t expect it either,” he says in a soft voice.
'What does that mean? Can I ask directly?'
I hesitate, then decide to risk it.
“Then… why did you cry?” I ask carefully, tone serious.
He meets my eyes without hesitation. “I realized she loved me too.”
My mind blanks.
'Huh? Of course she does. That’s obvious.'
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” he continues, gaze dropping back to Eri as his hand gently runs over her hair. “I didn’t expect it. I was ready to love and take care of her. But I never expected those feelings to be reciprocated.”
He pauses for a moment.
“She sees me as family,” he says finally.
His expression doesn’t change, but his voice loses its warmth. It doesn't seem like sadness, just… hollow. Like he was recalling some distant memory as he said those words.
My hands tighten in my lap.
'That’s not a normal thought. That’s not something you say unless…'
He didn’t expect to be loved. Not even by Eri who he considers family.
'What kind of life makes someone think like that?'
I want to ask about his parents and childhood. I'm sure the reason lies there... but I don't want to hurt him by making him recall it.
I shake my head softly instead. “There’s nothing strange about it. Everyone processes things differently. I’m just glad you realized it." I look at the sleeping Eri with a smile. "She’s lucky to have you.”
His eyes lift to meet mine and his small smile returns. “I'm glad I realised it too."
He's opening up, but he looked so empty when mentioning family. 'I should talk about something positive for now.'
“You’re actually really good with kids though. You handled well despite your concerns. I think you would’ve done fine without me,” I compliment honestly.
“Thanks. If it seems that way, then maybe I’m doing something right.” He pauses. “I mostly just know what not to do. So I do the opposite and hope it works.”
I raise an eyebrow at that.
'Is he giving me permission to ask more? It feels like he’s guiding me. Like he wants me to ask what he means.'
“What do you mean?” I ask. “You’ve been extremely thoughtful and gentle with her. But you've always been thoughtful.”
After all, he’s always gone above and beyond as class president.
He raises an eyebrow. “I told you before. I just try to avoid having to spend more effort later.”
“I don’t really know how to care for people,” he says after a moment. “I just… think about all the things I hated when I was younger and I avoid doing that.”
My heart tightens. 'This is the chance to ask about his childhood.'
"...Can you give me some examples?" I ask, carefully.
"Sure." He says nonchalantly. "I guess sneaking into the kitchen for food after my parents fell asleep was tedious."
My brows furrow.
'Sneak? Did they not feed him?'
“I didn’t like leaving my room. My mom would get mad if she saw me,” he continues, his tone almost bored. Like he’s listing off minor inconveniences.
But my chest aches. ‘Why would she get mad just seeing him? Shouldn't parents be happy seeing their child?’
“I didn’t like when they paid attention to me,” he adds, eyes still on Eri. “It meant something bad happened and I was somehow responsible.”
Each word is said casually, with cold detachment. As if he's reciting someone else's story.
And still, he keeps going.
“So, I make sure to avoid shouting, ignoring her, locking her in, and hurtful contact. Especially hitting.” His voice doesn’t change. Not once.
“I hated it most when I didn’t pass out. Because I wouldn’t wake up in a hospital and get painkillers, but it'd be as difficult to move.” He sighs.
That line, delivered so calmly, hits like a punch to the chest.
My throat tightens and I struggle to breathe for a second.
‘He’s talking about being beaten until he passed out. And his only hope would be to get painkillers to make movement easier...?’
He says it like it’s normal. Like it's just another part of life.
"So," he continues, "I make sure she eats warm, delicious food, feels as free and comfortable as possible, and I pat her, if she allows, so she doesn't feel scared when she sees a hand approach."
I stare at him, trying not to cry.
But it’s hard.
Very hard.
Because now I see it.
The way he treats Eri with delicate care isn't because he was taught to, but because he learned through pain what care isn’t.
Every gentle act, every thoughtful gesture, is built on suffering. He doesn't know how to love. He just knows how not to harm.
And somehow, he turned that into love and care. And no one ever taught him either.
I clench my fists, fighting back tears. Kata doesn’t seem to mind the silence. He just watches me quietly, his hand still gently brushing through Eri’s hair.
I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself, but my voice still wavers. “I-Is that why you… had so many scars?”
He nods. “Most of them were from my parents. But I’ve fixed them now.” His eyes drop to his clear arms. “They were reminders... ones that told me not to trust anyone. To keep people at a distance.”
He pauses for a moment. Then, softly, he adds, “But now… there are people I want to believe in. People I want to let closer. So I didn’t need the reminders anymore.”
He looks up and meets my eyes, and my heart skips a beat.
“A-Am I… one of those people?” I ask, nervous, fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve.
‘That was a stupid question…!’
But he gives me a soft, sincere smile and nods. “I believe you are. You’re kind, smart, and thoughtful. You always do your best, even when no one’s watching. I want to trust you.”
His words hit me harder than I expect. I feel warmth flood my chest, and I bite back the smile that tugs at my lips, trying not to get carried away by the flutter in my heart.
But I can’t ignore the weight of this conversation, either.
I look at him with a resolve I didn’t know I had. “Kata… I want to hear your story. All of it. I want to understand what you've been through.”
He blinks, mildly surprised by my seriousness. “It’s a long story,” he says quietly. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
I nod. “Yes. I’m sure.”
He exhales slowly, then begins.
He tells me everything—how his parents looked at him with disgust from as early as he could remember. How his quirk didn’t manifest at four, and the abuse that followed. How he was ignored, blamed, beaten, starved, and made to feel worthless.
How he was bullied outside, and hated inside his own home.
And how his quirk finally awakened at twelve, during the night his house burned down. The night his parents died.
I cried.
I cried again and again. He had to stop multiple times, patiently waiting for me to compose myself before continuing.
I was angry—furious—at the cruelty of the parents who should’ve protected him.
I was terrified for the small boy he used to be, struggling alone in that nightmare.
I was horrified at how easily others had looked away. The doctors. The teachers. Everyone who saw him.
But worst of all... what broke me most... was him.
Kata didn’t flinch. He didn’t tremble. He didn’t cry.
His voice wasn’t just flat. It wasn’t just calm. It was almost hollow.
He speaks without emotion, like he was reading a boring script.
He didn’t call his parents monsters. He just stated what they did, and why.
He didn’t curse the doctors. He only said they did what they were supposed to.
He didn’t make excuses for anyone. But he didn’t blame them either.
He wasn’t forgiving. He had just become numb to it all.
And I realized… that’s what hurts most.
Because now I understand. The way he looked on our first day at U.A.—that emotionless calm I couldn’t make sense of back then…
It wasn’t just who he is.
It’s all that was left after everything was stripped away.
And I cried harder than I ever have in my life.
(Kata POV – Shopping Mall, Restaurant)
I watch silently as Momo wipes her tears with a handkerchief she created.
After telling her everything, minus a few parts I chose to leave out...
'I feel… nothing.'
No weight lifted or relief. Not even sadness.
Just a quiet void.
I thought maybe speaking it aloud would stir something. That the act of sharing might unravel a knot I hadn’t realized was there. That maybe I’d feel lighter or better somehow.
'That’s what people say.'
But nothing came undone. If anything, the words felt too easy, like reciting a textbook I’d memorized long ago. I've already lived through the pain and sealed it away.
It’s in the past. And there’s nothing left to be done about it.
And yet… she cries.
She cries simply because I had to live through it.
I study her quietly. Her expression is filled with sadness and sympathy. 'She looks like she’s mourning someone.'
And it’s… strange.
'I don’t like it.'
Not because I feel responsible. She asked me to share my past and I only told her the truth so I have nothing to feel guilty about.
But something in me just… doesn’t want her to be hurting. That sensation alone is enough to give me pause.
'Why does her crying bother me so much?'
And why do I feel slightly happy despite that?
'She’s crying for me because I suffered.'
And maybe… that’s what her tears mean.
She’s mourning a version of me that I discarded years ago—the naive child who thought love was something you could earn if you tried hard enough. Who searched for family in those who despised him.
I’ve always thought tears were useless. They don’t fix anything. They can't rewrite the past or undo the pain that caused them.
But maybe her tears mean something.
That maybe that child wasn’t foolish for wanting what he did.
That maybe he deserved to be wanted.
That maybe, even if I buried him, someone still sees him... and mourns him.
It's something I've always known, but only now really feel.
'The person you’re crying for died when I was twelve.'
That’s what I want to say. That’s what I almost say.
But I stop myself.
Because when I look at Momo—eyes red, face filled with sorrow—part of me feels like maybe he didn’t die entirely since someone would remember him.
She’s finally stopped crying, though her expression hasn’t changed much, but something else settles in her expression.
I can’t place it. Maybe… a quiet resolve.
I lean back, feeling the warmth of Eri’s sleeping form against my leg and glance once more at Momo.
"I thought I was fine with everything," I say at last, my voice calm. "I gave up a lot of myself to survive and move forward. That was the price of living."
She looks up at me, her lips pressed together, still silent.
"But…" I continue, meeting her gaze, "I guess I do feel a little lighter. Not because the past changed, but because… I know now that not everyone would have turned a blind eye."
'Would she have done something if she had seen me?' The doubt is still there. But I choose to believe she would.
I allow a faint smirk to play at the corner of my mouth.
“Seems like I was just unlucky.” I say jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.
She lets out a shaky breath as she wipes the last of her tears.
“You weren’t unlucky,” she murmurs, her voice thick but steady. “You just hadn’t met the right people yet.”
I pause and then I nod. “…Thank you for caring, Momo.”
She offers a small smile. “Always.”
