I Hate You...

Hello, hello! Mimmy here! I know it's been a while between posts this year, but I'm getting back into it, I swear!

Happy Valentine’s Day! :two_hearts:

This one's a little different. The prompt was love letter and a love letter you're gonna receive. No story, just letter.

#CuratorReview

Word count

557

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There's a lot they don't tell you about love, about the origins of Valentine's Day. You know about the love, couples being madly in love, pretending to be, or single people still celebrating with friends, with themselves... the people who simply don't care. Valentine’s Day is a celebration of love, right? A day of hearts and flowers and promises. Except it started with a priest getting executed for defying the law.

But no one wants to ruin the happiness, the pink and flowery environment. So no one dares mention it, no one dares talk about those on the other side, those who believed to have sworn off love and yet suddenly find themselves drawn to someone else, to the most unlikely of souls. Drawn to the fucking traitor of a golden retriever.

Drawn to the hero.

And lovesickness is way worse than being neglected and burnt alive.

Forever. That is a ridiculous notion, there is no such thing, not even ‘for the rest of our lives’ is realistic, no matter what. Lovesickness comes with anger, bitterness, and hatred.

I hate you.

I have always hated you, but now it's far worse than ever. I don't want to see you burn anymore. I want you here.

And I loathe myself more than ever.

For wanting you, of all people, YOU.

You, who took my life from me; you, who ed our ranks for information; you, who killed my friend in cold blood; you, who works so close to Endeavor I'm not sure where he ends and you begin.

I hate us both.

And yet, your stupidly ridiculous smile, the softness in your eyes, the way you manage to get on my nerves in the most endearing way… I was wrong. I do want to burn you.

I want you to burn the way I do, from the inside out. I want you to feel exactly the same way I do. I want you to hurt every second of your pathetic life.

But I want you to feel that agonizing pain here, with me.

It’s funny, though. People claim there’s a fine line between hate and love.

I don’t love you.

I know I don’t, even without knowing what love feels like. This is not it. Despite everything, I can’t love you. Not that I want to. I wouldn’t know how to anyway.

Poor little Touya never learned how to love. All he ever learned was how to get a sick obsession with power and control because that was all he ever saw. Power and weakness.

And I am not weak.

Anything but hatred makes you weak.

Hatred has been the only thing keeping me and many others alive throughout history. And I won’t stop being consumed by the raw fire of hatred now. Not now that he knows. Not now that I can savor every second of it.

But hatred has always been the only thing keeping me alive. If I let go of it—if I let something else in—what the hell am I supposed to be then?

You don’t know the story, and you never will until you realize who you’re working with. I want to hate you for it. I want to hate you for trusting that man. But all there is is something else.

And I don’t know what it is.

Yours, (or whatever)

Dabi.