running for your life ch.1

welcome to vehemently's first arc: running for your life. i guess i'll just update once a year lol.

i have been obsessively writing this. although i tried to draw it out over a couple of weeks because i am a student. i basically work on it for twenty-four hours straight and then promise myself to prioritise university before i start another phase.

i will ask you this once. can you guess who kisestu's daughter is supposed to be?

read to find out.

:waning_crescent_moon: (previous) :full_moon: (next)

˗ˏˋʚɞˎˊ˗

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 4,954

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Fall is here. Who says? The crisp bite of the air and the golden leaves tumbling down Musutafu’s pavement. Midoriya feels guilty hearing them crunch under his sneakers, walking to the cafe. The Owl-eye cafe is on the corner closest to the Nighteye agency. He rambles under his breath about how the opening hours are suspiciously similar to Sir Nighteye’s shift. The dry smell of the air somehow worsens when Midoriya opens the door to Owl-eye and hurries inside. He fumbles with the list of orders scrawled across a slip of paper, pink in the face over his first assignment interning for the former sidekick of All Might. Sir Nighteye was welcoming when he arrived at the agency this morning, compared to the very opposite first impression Midoriya had made.

Mirio helped introduce him to two sidekicks. Bubble Girl is the newest sidekick, she was glad they got to meet properly after the awkward experience in Sir Nighteye’s office the first time. Centipeder tried not to intimidate him, however Midoriya couldn’t help being nervous meeting his most documented sidekick from the 5th edition of his hero analysis for the future notebooks. There are three sidekicks in total. He is most excited to meet the final sidekick: Runner Hero Urasho. She was first and even debuted as a pro hero independently six years ago. Urasho is the first sidekick to ever go pro that never opened her own agency, and has even continued working as a sidekick simultaneously to fulfilling her duties as a pro hero to this day.

The media struggled to understand such a humble career choice. The scandal prevents her from ranking higher than 30 on Japan’s billboard. His mumbling aloud in the cafe sounds something like this, the patrons also waiting in line briefly glancing at the young boy with concerned expressions. An old lady clears her throat behind him and Midoriya quietly apologises. The barista calls “five lattes!” and he looks to see who has the same order as him. She sports a colour so red, the glimpse of eyes even more ruby is hard to believe when she gratefully takes the tray. Midoriya first thought the suit belonged to a dancer, however he quickly realises her mercury sleeves show signs of armour and, more importantly, recognises who owns the august contemporary design.

“You’re in the way,” she levels, cool as rain pouring on leaves. He had ran over to her in a flurry. The patrons and staff alike watch in horror.

“U-Urasho! I-its an honour! Sorry!” he stutters, stumbles out of the way, sweating. Urasho stands next to him. His eyes flicker up to the coffee tray as she tilts it in his direction.

“Were you about to order coffee?” she asks.

“Actually! Today is my first day at the agency, I was just about to…” he trails off, finally understanding. Midoriya hides the paper behind his back with a guilty smile. Urasho regards her junior icily. The breeze does nothing to move her pond hair from its tie when she holds the door open for him. Every step he takes behind her crunches loudly while she flows ahead silently.

At the Nighteye agency everyone gathers in the office. Urasho exits the elevator with a mortified Midoriya trailing behind her. Sir Nighteye lowers his clipboard without delay. “Urasho, good morning.” Good wishes are repeated around the room. Midoriya softly crumbles the paper in his hand. “I see you have already met. Allow me to make the proper introductions,” Sir Nighteye approaches, “This is our newest intern Deku. Deku, my long-standing sidekick and pro hero Urasho.” Midoriya bows to her and Urasho politely returns the gesture.

She places down the tray and distributes the lattes. Her boss and Centipeder thank her similarly while Bubble Girl accepts it more playfully. Its the closest to a smile Midoriya has seen her make.

Mirio brightly accepts the coffee, “Wow! You didn’t have to do this for everyone! You’re always looking out for us, huh?” Her gaze flickers to Mirio briefly.

“Don’t worry about it,” she reacts ively. His smile shrinks subtly, like sunlight filtering through water. Mirio settles back next to Midoriya when Urasho finds more interest in the documents organised on the desk. Before Midoriya can worry about Mirio, he uses the room’s brief silence to finally speak up, revealing the paper from behind his back.

“Excuse me Sir Nighteye,” he interjects, “about the assignment…”

“You’ll get used to it,” Centipeder reassures him, “Urasho is always faster.” Sir Nighteye agrees. Urasho lightheartedly meets Midoriya’s cautious stare to break the ice a little bit.

“Back to the business at hand,” Sir Nighteye recalls. Midoriya observes the projection beside the table of documents where Urasho is currently studying. The picture depicts a man wearing a long, red mask similar to a plague doctor costume. “For those of you who are unaware, our current investigation concerns the Shie Hassaikai Yakuza. Their leader Chisaki Kai,” he refers to the masked man in the projection, “goes by Overhaul. His movements have been unusual as of late. Recently we received intel of Overhaul making with the League of Villains.” Midoriya’s coffee trembles unlike the others, however the room is too absorbed in the instructions to notice. Today they will split up into groups to patrol and survey Yakuza territory. Sir Nighteye will go with Bubble Girl and Midoriya will go with Mirio. Urasho and Centipeder will be able to help from the office.

“His type is not seen these days,” Midoriya ponders aloud, memorising the projection.

“Its possible that Overhaul is trying to reunite the old villain generation,” Bubble Girl adds helpfully.

“Who is that?”

“All Yakuza experienced downfall after the rise of heroes and villains,” Urasho reads aloud from a clipboard cooly like a stream, “Organisations like Shie Hassaikai were overpowered a long time ago. They're supposed to be clean businesses.”

Nighteye’s final statement ticks like the second hand, “Our objective is to gather proof of the Shie Hassaikai’s criminal activities. Do not engage. Observe, document and report. Am I understood?”

Midoriya takes Mirio’s lead like the long shadows casting lines over the pavement from the pale Autumn sun. They geared up and took to the early streets of Musutafu as unofficial heroes. Sir Nighteye assigned an active Shie Hassaikai zone close to the centre of the city, however the interns are still expected to practice protocol, meaning they have to be mindful of pacing their patrol. At this hour Midoriya notices flustered citizens running late for work, mostly cafe patrons and some shibas being walked underneath descending bright ginkgo leaves. “So Deku,” Mirio initiates, “why that name? Isn’t it supposed to mean…well, something bad?” Inside Midoriya re. It would take more words than its worth to explain all he re, even his sea green eyes prefer turning to his sneakers subtly. Yet he answers Mirio’s innocent curiosity looking up at him.

“I didn’t like it at first…but my friends at U.A. helped me see it differently. Now its kind of like ‘you can do it!’” he finishes bashfully. Mirio grins unashamedly.

“Thats a great reason, I like it!”

Midoriya smiles, “What about your hero name, Mirio?”

“Lemillion,” he answers freely, “because my dream is to save a million people!” Midoriya’s smile widens, ranting excitedly as if Mirio were a flame and he were a measly moth. They walk in tandem until the Yakuza zone is close approaching, when he finally voices his earlier unease.

“Um…about Urasho…” Midoriya stalls. Although waned, Mirio smiles at him in an oblivious way from what he can tell. However, instead, Mirio says, “She’s always been like that. Cool as ice.”

“Really?” he frowns, “but she’s friendly with the others…” His upperclassman visibly ponders, pouting his lips and stroking his chin showily. Then he sighs to himself as if there were a joke he has decided to give up on. He spares Midoriya a long glance.

“Bubble Girl thinks its strange too. She even talked to me about it once…she said she’d noticed Urasho gets uncomfortable whenever U.A. comes up,” he clarifies.

“U.A.?” Midoriya isn’t sure why the article comes to mind. On the cover the very photograph of her sprints. Billowing hair the colour of day from a dark rooftop overlooking Musutafu. Reds, silvers and blacks glint along her costume like blury city lights in the rain as she is faced with the large view of their infamous city. The article was released for her second generation costume’s debut more than six years ago, it was old by the time he came across it.

The only thing he re from that article is the unsettling photo and the first line, which read ‘U.A. dropout to unlikely sidekick to the strikingly adorned runner hero.’ He tries to not let it show on his face. Despite the very public release of the article, he feels as if he has dug up a glass bottle and it would be best returned to the sand lest a sword finds him with it first. Midoriya hadn’t ed. Does anyone else? “She wanted to try and help me understand…but I don’t know!” unaware, Mirio shrugs hopelessly and scratches his head roughly, “maybe it’s something that’s hard for her to ?” Before Midoriya can answer, frightened footsteps collide into him.

Small feet came pitter-pattering from the ing alleyway. A little girl slips onto the street and runs into Midoriya. When he quickly bends down to help, he notices a horn on the right side of her head. He notices old ivory bandages hiding her arms and legs. Yet for all his important observations, the very first thing he sees is eyes so ruby its hard to believe. He must be confusing himself since he was already thinking about her. The little girl startles at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry. That must have hurt,” he apologises softly, reaching his hand out to her. She bows hurriedly without acknowledging the gesture, as if she were apologising instead. Midoriya guesses she might be ten or eleven years old based on her attempted show of manners.

However she looks much younger, a small, fragile form with unkept ash strands falling all around her. Wrapped up and adorning plain cloth like the undead. He isn’t sure if her trembling actions are her trying to stand up or run away. Mirio suddenly draws his attention to movement in the alleyway ahead, ending his last opportunity to say anything further to the girl. “Eri…we mustn’t cause any problems for the heroes.” Her head raises abruptly. Midoriya glances at her unintentionally, but he notices the shaking among blood irises. The low voice reveals a tall, dark trench coat which becomes an oily green when lured out of the shadows. His expression is shielded by a long, red mask similar to a plague doctor costume. Mirio doesn’t seem to dwindle. He reminds Midoriya to pull down his mask, he complies before his face can give anything away.

Overhaul speaks again, “I apologise. My daughter gets carried away with her fun and games.”

“Your daughter?” Midoriya’s tongue slips. Stung eyes level them silently. Venom as they may be, there’s no trace of such a thing in this girl’s velvet eyes. Mirio enlightens the point Midoriya lost, fronting a bright demeanour to help blind the enemy from the obvious in front of him.

“Shie Hassaikai, right? The mask gave it away,” he converses cheerfully. The stung glides to him.

“Don’t mind the mask, I simply dislike dirt,” Overhaul evades, visibly absorbed in their appearances, “I haven’t seen you two before. Rookies?”

Mirio chuckles easily, “Thats right! We’re still students doing field training.”

“Students?” he echoes deliberately. Mirio can’t avoid sounding awkward as much as he tries. Midoriya already stopped listening, fixating on the cloth of his costume in Eri’s white knuckles.

The others haven’t noticed yet. Mirio pats his kohai’s shoulder, “we’ll leave you to it then.” However Midoriya can’t make himself move from her tightening, trembling grip even for Mirio.

“Wait,” he tells him. Eri faces the ground ashamedly, he only barely sees the tears she verges, obscured by hanging cinders. Midoriya places his hand over her reddening grip. Where could water lead to if the stream first began with blood? “She’s frightened,” he decides aloud.

Overhaul retains his composure, “I scolded her. Children can be…difficult.” He doesn’t mind Mirio’s warning signals over witnessing her thin bandaged arms and skinny bandaged legs.

He weakly prods, “her bandages…did she fall?”

Overhaul’s head tilts, “She’s clumsy, always falling down.” He looks down at Eri unsurely. Her fist is small under his hand, yet he feels a loud, leaping pulse through his glove gently resting against her wrist. He watches her lift her head slightly, gaze fluttering up and down like a lone cinder. “Please don’t impose your ideas of normal on other families,” Overhaul chides lightly.

Mirio grips Midoriya’s shoulder firmly, “different people have different dispositions, Deku. We shouldn’t meddle where we’re not supposed to.” Yet Midoriya re All Might teaching him differently, the strongest sunset he’s ever seen lifting the view of the number 1 hero on its back. He has to Sir Nighteye’s orders. He can’t hold onto her small fingers. Standing feels unnatural for the first time in his life. Her grip persists and her eyes find him alarmingly, blood running cold as if the scarlet fluid could also be capable of forming glaciers.

“What…what are you doing to her?” he swallows. Silence buzzes. They wait for the party that will take a step too far. Midoriya wonders if he already has. Overhaul uses a very smooth voice.

“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you follow us?” He invites them to follow him into the void alley. He thinks of intruding on a hive where he would inevitably be poisoned alive. Still holding hands with Eri, Midoriya and Mirio morbidly follow the villain deeper into the alley

“She defies me all the time,” Overhaul muses, “understanding children can be…difficult. Especially when they haven’t quite decided what kind of person they want to become.” Midoriya hears the fidgeting. Overhaul faintly tugs off his glove. His body reacts defensively despite the small noise. All of a sudden, Eri tears away from him and runs back to Overhaul’s side. Her streaked face is far too buried in the dark trench coat to have seen Midoriya’s momentarily outstretched hand. The fidgeting sounds stop.

“There. No more trouble,” he approves, “thank you for listening to my worries.” Overhaul is walking away with Eri in tow, Midoriya blinks many times trying to believe it. Mirio’s initial surprise at the turn of events disappears, favouring warning him against acting out. Mirio speaks lowly, Eri disappears too quickly. His fists whiten beneath his gloves the way hers did only a moment ago.

“Deku, let her go. We can’t act without permission,” Mirio says. “If we chase him now, we’ll never catch him later,” he also says. If only he were stronger. The constant thought too heavy for his mind to lift. If only he were the flood that could drown the gold fire the ashes wrongly belong to.

-

Small feet follow the dim corridor soundlessly as Chrono leads Eri back to her bedroom, as if the pavement were made of plain sand and not grey concrete. The cloaked man in front of her is Overhaul’s assistant Chronostasis, and these dry walls are what reinforce Overhaul’s hideout.  This dessert is the only home she knows. When they reach her metal box, Chrono opens the door and gestures inside. “Go in,” he instructs. His sharp gaze watches her quietly float into her bedroom. As the door closes slowly, a venom-laced voice echoes from down the corridor. She turns around promptly, the opening she glimpses closing on her metallic-tasting eyes as the door shuts.

“She looks sickly again,” Overhaul mutters. Eri hears Overhaul and another one of his subordinates from behind the dust. The subordinate shifts and shuffles frequently.

“I’m sorry sir,” he begs, “I lost sight of her just for a second-” A wet splatter. Eri tries to imagine rainfall has finally made it inside the barren land, if only just a sprinkle. She reminds herself rain is not red. The stray light filtering under the door imitates the man’s nervous movements she heard earlier.

“Clean it up,” Overhaul orders Chrono, “and prepare a bath.” Chrono complies. Sounds she can’t explain carries beyond the door like a dust storm. Overhaul complains over the drag, drag, drag, “people are sick. All of them, infected with hero syndrome. Always pretending they care about others when they only want to glorify themselves.” Her ear briefly presses against the metal.

“Eri, stop being selfish. You’re the key to everything.” She startles, quickly walking backwards from the door. His voice was angry against her ear where she thought the metal door had been. She hears footsteps approaching. The stray light splits like insects darting back and forth. Lately Eri has been experiencing a recurring dream, and it comes to her at random times. Someone is cradling her. She can’t see the face but they have the same eyes as Eri. In the dream its always raining, droplets hitting her face until her vision blurs uncomfortably. Through the blur she eventually realises the rain is coming from their eyes. She has no proof, in fact in the dream the eyes are twisted painfully, but she just knows the rain that was warm and strong is safe.

Yet despite her efforts, her eyes don’t rain often anymore. She thought the boy in the green mask today had hands that were similarly warm. The door creaks open again and Overhaul’s imposing figure fills the doorway. “Come,” he orders simply, reaching for her hand. His careful hold takes her past doors she has never been allowed to open and towards familiar antiseptic, metal scents, until they finally arrive at the lab. She didn’t have to look up from the parched pavement even once to have known where the pathway would lead. The only thing she doesn’t understand here are the tools on the benches that aren’t meant for her. Overhaul gestures towards the chair, another subordinate starts unwinding the bandages from her arms after she takes a seat. She is quiet, like descending particles from stoking a fire.

“Boss,” Chrono interrupts, “You have a call. Shigaraki Tomura. He wants to give you his response.” Eri glances in their direction mindlessly. She notices Overhaul flexing his gloved fingers before he turns away from her, following Chrono out of the room. Eri stops watching him.

“Handle the preparations without me,” Overhaul exhales. In the chair Eri has always felt a way she never learnt how to describe. Maybe like meat. Maybe like blood. A thing they poke at with long sticks shamelessly, because they are very confident the thing is no longer alive.

-

After Mirio reports to Sir Nighteye, the pro hero leads the team back to his office. The report detailing the encounter with Overhaul is finalised at the agency. Centipeder reviews the document carefully while Midoriya glances around distractedly. “Centipeder-san, where is Urasho?”

He briefly looks up from the papers, “she was called away on a pro assignment.” Mirio apologetically bows to Sir Nighteye across the room, which draws any attention there may have been on the deep frown Midoriya puts on over Urasho’s conspicuous absence.

“Sir! I’m sorry I messed up!” Mirio declares.

“No,” Sir Nighteye halts, “if there was a mistake, it was mine. If I had been ‘watching’ from the start, this could have been prevented.” Mirio swallows something seemingly burning.

Bubble Girl sighs, “at least you’re both safe. If you had made the wrong move, Overhaul would have gotten suspicious.” As the room discusses procedure, Midoriya absentmindedly mumbles by himself. It grows from unnoticeable to a cause for the others to call his name multiple times.

He reacts suddenly, “I wish we could have somehow rescued Eri. I want to ask Urasho about-” An inkling he can’t explain. A streamlet he knows nothing about except very familiar, very ruby eyes.

“You’re getting arrogant thoughts,” Sir Nighteye interrupts, reversing the mention of her entirely. Midoriya blinks rapidly like fanning away fog. Shiny eyes loom over Midoriya sharply, like a clock. “Had you rushed in, you would have failed. Impatience would have let Overhaul slip out of your grasp. Will alone won’t help you save everyone,” they lecture, Midoriya meets his eyes willingly.

“The most dangerous villains conceal themselves in darkness. Heroes must bide their time until the opportunity is ripe. Move without understanding, and you’ll be playing right into their hands.” Midoriya nods guiltily. Mirio and the others still offer him warm smiles, suggesting he is the only one feeling startled. The topic moves on to the investigation, where Sir Nighteye shifts the discussion to the recent truck accident involving Overhaul and the Shie Hassaikai. Essentially the outcome forces them to presume Overhaul’s quirk is at least capable of recovery, since the whole gang of thieves that initially suffered from chronic conditions came out of the incident completely healed, without a trace. Midoriya’s first day of work-studies more or less concluded on that note.

-

His classmates surround him expectantly in the dormitory after dinner. They want to hear all about working with the former sidekick of All Might, even Bakugo leans back on the couch begrudgingly. However Midoriya can’t help feeling as distracted as the leaf drifting from the tree. “Yeah, he’s very talented…” he offers nervously. Amidst being visibly intimidated from their attention and the disappointed, typical commotion, Midoriya luckily re the favour Mirio asked of him. “Oh, Kirishima-kun!” he singles him out like how a lens adjusts to the focus of the picture, “Mirio-senpai needs help telling Fat Gum that Tamaki-senpai doesn’t like takoyaki from convenience stores, if its not too much to ask.”

“That’s so cute,” Mina comments offhandedly. Midoriya smiles at Kirishima gratefully until the awkwardness starts to creep in, as Kirishima has yet to respond, melting into his own palm, staring at Midoriya’s uncomfortably appreciative expression although he has finished talking.

Bakugo kicks Kirishima in the leg from his seat next to him. Kirishima winces painfully, “yep! Takoyaki from convenience stores- no worries Deku!” Despite the oddness, Midoriya sympathises with the embarrassed, red colouring Kirishima adopts, knowing the feeling all too well himself. After thanking him, Midoriya retires to his room early. The door closes behind him with a soft click. He flips the light switch on and takes a seat on his bed. A short amount of time es before Midoriya is opening his laptop and trying to research the tabloid he ed earlier today. He quickly re how not tech savvy he is as well.

There are public records on Urasho he is already familiar with. Second generation costume interviews, family biographies, ice skating rink sightings, etcetera. Nothing about dropping out of U.A. Nothing about U.A. at all, except a minuscule, approving signature of graduating secondary school which both contradicts the missing article and makes him suspicious over the vagueness. He shuts the monitor decisively. He only knows one person who is good at positively everything. Carrying the laptop under his arm, he meekly knocks on the door. He retires to his room early every night, Midoriya knows he will find him here. Bakugo swings the door open aggressively.

“Sorry to bother you Kacchan!” he apologises immediately, “I promise it won’t take long, but I really need your help researching an article about U.A….specifically Urasho when she went to U.A.…it’s important…” He really doesn’t know how anyone manages to maintain their confidence in front of Bakugo’s sneer. When Bakugo doesn’t reject him immediately, Midoriya feels hopeful.

“Go bother someone else Deku,” he scoffs, “like shitty hair.” Bakugo slams the door in his face.

“Eh?” Who? Midoriya sorts through their classmates’ hairstyles in his mind to try and decipher which one Bakugo might hate the most, until his eyes trail to the innocent door next to Bakugo’s. Midoriya finds Kirishima in the common room chatting cheerfully with Sero and Kaminari. He tries politely interrupting between “she’s too good for you bro” and “how could you bro!”

“Excuse me Kirishima-kun,” he greets. Three heads swing around in his direction promptly. Midoriya feels his nerve trying to squeeze through his closed fingers. “Kacchan said you could help me research something, i-if you don’t mind.” Kirishima easily breaks an optimistic smile, convincing Midoriya he was wrong for thinking asking for help would be hard.

“I can try! Bakugo showed me some stuff,” he agrees bashfully, “I’m not as good as him though. I hope that’s okay.” Midoriya thanks him encouragingly and Kirishima separates from the others to sit at the dining table with him alone. After listening to his explanation, Kirishima wonders aloud if the Nighteye agency was able to help Urasho censor unwanted information in the public media. Midoriya had reached that conclusion as well, which has lead them to his current dilemma. “What about the U.A. database? She was definitely a student here right?” Kirishima realises.

“We can access it?” Midoriya stuns.

“Not everything like Aizawa-sensei can,” he explains, clicking buttons as he talks, “but who knows, maybe we can find clues in old yearbooks or something.” Midoriya watches in awe as he effortlessly navigates student access, thinking aloud to himself about hero trivia that ends up helping him find the right year. “Here we go. If she went to U.A. in her third year, this should be the right yearbook.” He scrolls silently, all eyes at the table concentrating on reading U.A.’s history. Two whole pages close to the beginning of the book are dedicated to a student who died during his hero work-studies the year before the book. His scrolling thoughtlessly slows down on cloudy hair and sunny smiling. Midoriya makes an acknowledging, regretful sound before Kirishima moves on. They are reading about the winners of the sports festival when Kirishima speaks.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you doing this?” Midoriya looks up from the screen.

He hesitates, his gaze flickering down to the illuminated pages thoughtfully. Kaminari and Sero walk past the table, bidding them goodnight quickly and they return the gesture happily.

“There was a little girl during work-studies today,” Midoriya starts, “I don’t have any proof but I have this feeling that Urasho can help us save her somehow.” Kirishima notices Midoriya’s clenched fists quivering slightly. His own fist twitches involuntarily, having a mind of its own. Not that he doesn’t believe him, but he also worries if Midoriya is trying to find a way to cope with the frustration of not being able to save her. He knows the feeling all too well. A rosebud crushed between pages.

“Feelings don’t make sense sometimes, but that’s kind of the point right?” he settles. Midoriya surrenders his hand, returning his gaze despite chasing butterflies somewhere faraway. Kirishima tries to hold back any amused noises, “but why didn’t you just ask her bro?” He jolts alive like ferns when touched.

He smiles guiltily, “I feel like that would be asking for trouble.”

“You need to work on your confidence Deku.”

“Its not related…” he reasons unconvincingly.

“Ok, ok, we’re getting distracted,” he redirects.

“Kirishima,” Midoriya implores weakly. Kirishima leans his face into his palm, scrolling on the monitor again. A smile would be hidden that way, no matter how potentially besotted.

Eventually they flip to the pages close to the end of the book with photos of the graduating classes. “Hey, look, its Midnight-sensei!” Kirishima points. She has short hair and actually wears a normal uniform, however its definitely her, Kayama Nemuri printed in italics beneath her feet. Midoriya looks in interest. She graduated from class 3-A. They search every class photo for familiar sky locks and cherry eyes, from the hero courses to the general courses, and come up with nothing. Midoriya sighs disappointedly. Kirishima keeps scrolling to the last few pages that are filled to the brim with memories. “Come on Deku, don’t give up yet. There’s still more photos.” He doesn’t recognise most of the students, however there are a few faces that went on to be sidekicks and pro heroes. They look less serious cheerleading in the sports festival stadium and sharing melon buns on the grass than the photos taken of them mid-action on the streets today.

Midoriya lands on a photo with Midnight again. She’s smiling excitedly unlike her preyful smiles they know of today, despite being crushed into a hug by the young girl next to her. The young girl has sky blue hair and rich, cherry eyes. “Kirishima-kun, look!” he s. He didn’t recognise the smile. This Urasho smiles hopefully, cradles her friend closely, only ties back half of her much longer hair so her ponytail can bounce personably. The U.A. uniform feels temporary to Midoriya, photographed like this, like a borrowed shirt that never makes it back to the true owner.

“We can talk to Midnight-sensei tomorrow,” Kirishima relaxes. He agrees appreciatively. Most of the lights in the 1A dormitory have been switched off by their classmates at this hour, the picture that ignites the screen provides the brightest light in the large, uncrowded room. Scribbled underneath it in print, yet still noticeably messy the way handwriting is, reads Kayama and Kise-chan. However the ‘and’ is written with a plus symbol instead of just the letters a, n and d.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

xoxo, kise-chan

#featurethis

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