When Andre was growing up, he never thought it odd that his heart didn’t beat with a dull drumbeat pulse but instead ‘ticked’ a crisp and precise ‘tock’ through his veins.
For all he knew, this was how all hearts worked. Ticking along in perfect metronomic time, causing all other clocks in the vicinity to match its beat. He just assumed that’s why we’d made clocks like that. What other conclusion was he supposed to reach?
It wasn’t until he was a teenager that this assumption was quite thoroughly deconstructed, as he fainted in class and had to go into hospital. When the doctor put her stethoscope to his chest she heard, instead of the usual lub-dub of thumping meat, a steady metallic sound of perfectly kept time.
The doctor said to Andre:
“Um, your chest appears to be ticking?”
To which Andre replied:
“Oh no, is it not keeping good time? I’ve always been regular before.”
The doctor wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. So she sent him to get an x-ray instead.
The results were … surprising.
There, drawn out in negative, was a timepiece growing out of his heart and nestled beneath the clockface of his ribs.
This caused much consternation from the assembled doctors, not to mention Andre’s parent. They had always done their best to take care of him and thought they’d done a damn good job all things considered, so this really was a bit much.
It was only Andre who seemed sanguine about the situation. After all, he’d managed perfectly well so far with a clock in his heart. What could he really be expected to do about the situation?
Given the hubbub, they sent Andre for a second x-ray. Then a third. Then a fourth. As well as numerous other tests.
The fainting, it turned out, was not related to the heart, but a simple result of low blood sugar.
Much more interesting was what the subsequent x-rays revealed: Andre’s heart was *counting down*.
There was a great deal of speculation about what it might be counting down *to*. Perhaps to his death? Grim, but possible. To some important event? Who knows. Perhaps a time bomb? Well, we can’t rule anything out.
Andre didn’t let it bother him too much. His clockwork heart had never steered him wrong, after all, so he was content to trust it to take care of itself, oiled by his blood and powered by his strength.
Then, one day, it finally counted all the way down…
He was walking down the street on the way to the library. It was a nice day, so he had just bought an ice cream with a single chocolate flake. It would keep him cool till he got to the library’s calming air-conditioned oasis.
Then he heard a ringing out. It was coming from his chest.
An alarm was going off.
Not only that, but he could hear another alarm going off nearby.
He walked in the direction of the other alarm and it took him up to a house on a nearby side street.
He knocked on the door.
It was opened by a man with a thin angular face, dainty spectacles on his nose and leaves in his hair. Behind him, the hallway stretched on into the distance, the knotted wooden floor lit by a strange dappled light from heavy crystal chandeliers.
He looked at Andre. Andre stared back.
Their hearts rang their alarm in harmony.
“Would you like my flake?” Said Andre.
“Very much.” Said the man with leaves in his hair.
Kacchan hadkissed him. And kissed him. Again and again.
Fuck, you’re perfect.
He’d said that, hadn’t he? Izuku wouldn’t have imagined that.
Izuku’s chest suddenly ached with enough pain that his face winced with it. His heart felt so full it slammed urgently against the prison of his ribs, looking for the person whose hands it could free fall into.
I shed tears, finally I found a top notch content in this BNHA fandom which is a Bakudeku fancfic called ‘Blood Moon’, beautifully written by @atomicblonde . Like seriously why I didn’t find it earlier?
This is from chapter 5 and the actual scene is way hotter than this but sadly I don’t have enough skill to draw nsfw stuff hahaha //cries
Sascha shakes his head. “I loved her. I will only ever love her. It’s as simple as that.”
“I don’t expect you to mourn her forever. Nor would she. She would murder us both if she ever thought you would be unhappy on my account.”
“I will always be unhappy. She isn’t here any more. There is not a day that goes by where I don’t long to awaken to behold her or to turn and find her there. To hear her laugh. I can never replace her and nor would I want to.” Sacha’s eyes find his wedding band. There isn’t grief in his eyes but rather fondness, a reminiscence that speaks well of their time and strength to his vow.
Everytime you call me crazy, I get more crazy. What about that? And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry. What about that? […] No one likes a mad woman. You made her like that.
I knew I’d curse you for the longest time, chasing shadows in the grocery line. I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired, and you’d be standing in my front porch light. And I knew you’d come back to me, you’d come back to me.
I can see you staring, honey, like he’s just your understudy, like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me. […] (‘Cause you never gave a warning sign) I gave so many signs, so many signs, so many signs. You didn’t even see the signs.
She’ll patch up the tapestry I shred. And hold your hand while dancing, never leave you standing, crestfallen on the landing with champagne problems. Your mum’s ring in your pocket, her picture in your wallet. You won’t remember all my champagne problems.
While you were out building other worlds, where was I? Where’s that man who’d throw blankets over my barbed wire? I made you my temple, my mural, my sky. Now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.
My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand, taking mine but it’s been promised to another. […] He’s gonna burn this house to the ground. How’s one to know? I’d live and die for moments that we stole, on begged and borrowed time. So tell me to run.
And I fell from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole. Long story short, it was a bad time. Pushed from the precipice, clung to the nearest lips. Long story short, it was the wrong guy. […] Pushed from the precipice, climbed right back up the cliff. Long story short, I survived.
I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night. Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife. […] The more that you say, the less I know. Wherever you stray, I follow. I’m begging for you to take my hand. Wreck my plans, that’s my man.
And I’m sitting on a bench on Coney Island, wondering, “Where did my baby go?” The fast times, the bright lights, the merry-go. […] Were you waiting at our old spot, in the tree line, by the gold clock?
I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong. Writing letters addressed to the fire. And I was catching my breath, staring out an open window, catching my death.
I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush. I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch. Everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.
