Chapter Text
Turning off the faucet, Emi stared numbly at the scraggly woman in the mirror. She didn’t recognize who she saw.
Though, she’s seen worse of herself clad in her hero costume. Breaks, blood and bruises after a day of work. Scuffed here, scuffed there. A cut. A sprain.
This time was different, even uneasy. No bright colored costume, orange bandanna, mind rending pain, obvious fractures—just aches and blank memory. As if the night was a dream; Never happened.
She wondered.
Waking up with blood and sediment, did that happen?
I walked here, I don’t remember walking here.
That sour taste, I should rinse my mouth out again.
Eraser—what did he say again? He spoke to me a moment ago, didn’t he?
She stopped.
There was something else.
Bumps and bruises, clumpy; damp hair, the restless pounding in her skull—no, that wasn’t it. Something else.
What it was exactly, she wasn’t sure. Just a sinking feeling whenever she looked at herself—into her eyes. Those off eyes.
Her eyes narrowed as she leaned toward the mirror. Puzzled, if anything when she found what it was.
The mismatched blacks of her pupils.
Dumbfounded, she looked from eye to eye, again and again. Once more—that can’t be right—
That one’s bigger, that one’s smaller.
Had she really hit her head that hard? Just how much damage did it take?—This had to be a dream. Some weird dream.
Her attention drifted back to the soreness in her core. Grudgingly, she looked to her stomach in the mirror. Given the state of her eyes and the cloudiness in her head, her ribs definitely weren’t going to be A-OK either.
She leered. Just what was that shirt of hers hiding? She pulled her shirt up and over her rib cage.
“Yikes.” She whispered through clinched teeth.
Splotches of purple and pink in her skin explained the pain. She boggled at the sight for a moment.
Transfixed, she slowly placed a curious hand over the cluster—ever so slightly pressing fingers into the color. Nerves tangled and knotted under her fingertips. The gnawing relaxed and faded once she had yanked away.
She knew what this was, no doubt. She really had broken something after all.
Giving her beaten abdomen one last glance in the mirror, she pulled her shirt back down.
She’d jumped the gun.
A few hours of rest won’t heal broken bones. She needed to get this checked. Both this and her eyes, too.
Stewing in her worry, she remembered a certain someone. A certain someone stowed away in his bedroom.
Oh, this isn’t going to be fun.
He’s gonna be upset.
Coming over without any forewarning or explanation—in the middle of the night—only to tell later that she’d been hit by a car. After waving him off, telling him not to worry.
To have thought that crashing here would have been an easy solution; that nothing was truly wrong.
Just an extra trip was all it was. A mistake.
She finally pried from the mirror. Stepping out of the bathroom and weakly running a hand across the wall of the hallway as she dragged in the living room.
He’d left the lights on, at least. That, she was thankful for.
She could see around the place he called “home”. She hadn’t absorbed much of the sight before having to scramble to the restroom.
Taking a quick gander, it was homely. Rather vacant, but not surprising. Anything more would have been mind-blowing, knowing the loafer that resides here.
Now, where was that room of his?
She refocused. Hunting for a door—any door. She inched to the first door she saw. Prepping herself as she opened it.
Shelves.
It opened to shelves.
She closed the hall closet door and chuckled to herself.
With the weight of her laughable failure, she scoured for a second door.
Scoring one, she cautiously twisted the knob and gave a small push. The door slowly swung open, creaking as it opened completely, allowing light to flood inside. She peeked in. Thankfully, not greeted by shelves.
Yep, she’d found it all right.
There wasn’t much in here, either; of course. Just Aizawa, a dresser or two, desk, chair, and a bed, from what she could tell in the brief once-over she gave.
She crept to the clump of a person under the covers. Peering over the lump, looking a trail up from the black strands of hair she managed to see spilled over the blankets. At the end of the trail, her eyes met with his. She stood petrified as her brain sputtered to a stop.
So, he was already awake. And staring.
How long had he been doing that?
She didn’t notice she was gawking until he spoke.
“What?”
She blinked.
“Oh, uh... ya know...” She stuttered. “I don’t thi—I know I’m not in good condition, and I underestimated how busted I actually was.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.” The bed creaked slightly as he sat up. “You came inside and vomited.”
“Yeah...” She said sheepishly. “Sorry.”
She watched as he leaned over and flicked on the lamp on the bedside table. It offered a bit of help to the light that the gaping door lead in.
“How bad?”
“Pretty bad.”
“Be more specific.”
“I hit my head.”
She knew what she said was stupid. Seeing him look to the bumps and bruises made it dumber.
“What happened?”
“See... now, this was the part I wasn’t looking forward to.”
“What happened?” He pried again.
Sighing, she admitted. “I got hit my a car—“
“What?”
“—and I broke a rib or two.” She sniggered at her idiocy.
“And, ya know, hit my head pretty bad, too.” She reminded, pointing to the scuffs on her face.
He grimaced, just like she thought he would.
“And you’re telling me this now?”
She looked down at the floor in embarrassment. “Yup.”
“Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”
“Hey, I didn’t think I was as hurt as I was.” She defended.
“You were hit by a car.”
“I’ve had worse.”
Defeated, he slumped. Emi lifted her head a tad to peek at him in his dismay. Still slouched, he droopily glanced to he clock on the bedside table. “It’s going to be a bit difficult to catch a cab at this time.” He sat up rubbing his eyes. “Our best shot would probably be to catch one at the train station.” He offered, climbing out of bed. Emi backpedaled to make way.
“Can you manage?”
“Uh...” She scrunched her nose. “Think so.”
“Yes or no.”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Your funeral.” He relented.
Her brain bonked about her skull as she straightened, flipping her head up to look at him. This time, eyeing his clothes. Head to toe, he couldn’t go looking like that. No way.
“OK, looking like that? No. Put some real clothes on.” She poked.
“Don’t.”
“Do it for me.” She taunted, lacing her fingers and fluttering her eyelashes.
He rolled his eyes. “Get out.” He shooed.
She scoffed, giving her brain a good rattle as she whirled to face the door. “Don’t take too long.” She chimed, leaving the room with a spring in her step and shutting the door behind her.
She groaned on the other side. Her head was spinning again.
Probably be a good idea not to spin and bounce around if she wanted to keep her lunch. Losing it once was enough.
She needed to sit down—Right, there was a couch, wasn’t there?She looked to where she briefly saw it—seeing before she’d gone into Eraser’s room. Memory had served her this time. Sure enough, there it was: where she remembered it to be. She scuttled over to the sofa. Setting herself down, she closed her eyes.
Dizziness and haze ceased. Uninterrupted darkness took their place—nice, peaceful, black; darkness.
Emi relaxed.
She would have conked had it not been for the sound of a door. Her eyes opened and flicked to the open bedroom door where he stood. He looked better. Not much, but better.
“That sure was quick.” She noted.
He closed the door. “Let’s go.” He beckoned, already headed to the front door.
“Aight.” She nodded, pulling herself up and following to the door.
Waiting behind him as he undid the locks and grabbed a coat off the rack. He paused and looked back at her. “You need a coat?”
She looked down to her saturated clothes and back to him. “Man, you’ve really gotten soft.” She gave him a playful punch.
“You want one or not.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” She corrected, accepting the coat he extended.
He propped the door open as he reached for the spare jacket on the rack. “Thank you.” She stretched, taking her leave. He followed.
“Didn’t know you were such a gentleman.” She teased as he fished out his keys and locked the outside. “Sure.” He dismissed.
Without another word, he set off and Emi joined him. Walking side by side down the halls, through the turns and down the stairs. Out the stair exit, approaching the lobby, the sound of the rain outside surfaced. Muffled but clearing as they came closer and closer to the front doors—back into the storm.
“Here we go.” Emi deflated as they opened the doors to the bitter and pouring outside.
Wasting no time, they dove into the rain. Aizawa lead and Emi kept beside him. Walking through the murky streets. Again.
Rain falling and dripping through clothes and hair. Trickling down their faces and filling their shoes.
It was vaguely familiar, Emi recalled. As if she had just been outside, trudging down streets.
Only, not alone this time.
Time dragged as they strode. Down that street, down this street. Her ribs nagged and her brain stirred. Down the streets, down the streets, she recollected.
She had fallen a few paces back. He noticed.
“You OK?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She waved.
He slowed, setting himself at her side again. Her dread chipped away from this seemly small action. At this, somehow, she felt less alone; even when he was there the entire time.
Comforting, somehow. Reassuring.
He really was here.
They continued. Through dirty water—down that street, then that one, then the next one. The whole time without a word.
Emi’s every step became daunting. The lack of voice left only fragmented bone and a fogged skull to whelm her. No blabber about the weather, the day, or the week. Any words to smother the pain.
Anything would do.
She had to say something.
“Hey, Eraser.” She choked, seeing his head whip to her in the corner of her eye. “I might actually die if you don’t talk to me.”
“What?”
She didn’t know what she expected.
“Let’s talk. The awkwardness is actually starting to hurt.” She lied.
He shrugged. “OK.”
“I’ll start.” She butted. “So, the weather, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You gotta give me more than that.”
“It’s rainy.”
“God,” She chuckled in her misery. “I forgot how bad you are at this.”
She rebound. “OK, OK, uhh... how’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“That sure tells me a whole lot.”
“I’ve been living.”
“And...?”
“That’s it.”
She scoffed. “What a life!”
“Yep.”
Quiet. It was quiet again. Awkwardness wedged itself between them.
Emi drove it off.
“At least ask me how I’ve been doing.” She resumed.
“How have you been?” He forced.
“Been pretty bad, thanks. Got hit by a car.” She suppressed a laugh.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah...” She faked sadness. “But in all seriousness, I’ve actually been pretty good. ‘Course, up until now.”
He nodded.
“Say, how’s your class been? Or do you not have one because you expelled all of them?” She joked.
“They’re fine.”
“Seems like your life is a whole lot of ‘fine’.”
She hatched and idea.
“But ya know what would make it ‘great’?”
He glowered.
“Having me as a wife.” She mocked with a smile.
He gave no response. Her laugh abruptly ended from a sharpness in her core. Brushing it off, she sighed. “Uh, how far is this walk exactly?”
“Still quite a few blocks.”
“Ah, OK. Good, good...”
It wasn’t nearly over, and he certainly wasn’t being as helpful of a distraction as he could be. She persisted.
“So... what have I missed since I’ve stopped dropping by to see you, huh?”
“Nothing, really. Just me enjoying myself.”
“Ouch.” She flinched. “C’mon. You like my company, admit it.”
“Nope.”
“Aw, you.” She responded in defeat.
On and on she went, running her mouth to drown the searing in her chest.
Walking, she gabbed and he listened.
Often times she would forget their conversation; asking the same questions again, to have a ‘You-Already-Asked-That’ from Aizawa. Still, she spoke. Asking questions, making puns, poking fun—they all fell flat all the same.
It didn’t matter.
Time moved faster anyway.