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Color had always defined her.
Perhaps that was due to the lack her own. She was empty of any pigments and shades. Not even faded in the way a watercolor’s paints ran together, or like a canvas exposed to sun and elements for too long. But absent. In the way of a blank canvas, there was simply nothing.
Sometimes Hagakure entertained what she looked like. If someone were to draw her as more than floating clothes, what colors would they reach for? What color was her hair, her eyes? Purples? Blues? Rich browns? Smokey sages? Quiet and subtle grays? What was her landscape of color? She liked to imagine she was beautiful and unique, colors a study in perfection.
In actuality, she was probably plain, average, and boring. Same as she was in reality - easily overlooked and invisible. It wasn’t just her quirk. Being invisible seemed to define her. She was easily overlooked because she couldn’t stand out. People might do a double take when they first met her - to their eyes she was only a pile of floating clothes, after all. Once the initial shock wore off, it was easy to forget about Hagakure. Out of sight, out of mind, and all.
She’d never known anything else. There were no photos of her growing up that could show her what she may have been, no little girl with a shock of hair and large eyes. Unlike many of her classmates who had gained their quirks in preschool, she had been born invisible.
Her parents told stories about raising a child they couldn’t see and how they had adjusted. Most of the time they were enjoyable tales about cookies and binkies stolen when they weren’t paying attention, or a diaper floating down the hallway as giggles wafted back to them. The narrative was always lighthearted and upbeat, bringing sunshine yellows and bright warm oranges to the conversations about her childhood.
No one mentioned the smudged grays of nightmares where Hagakure dreamed that no one could see or hear her. Where she was forgotten. No one discussed how Hagakure could walk into a room silently and overhear conversations far too heavy for her young ears.
And it wasn’t all bad. Being invisible had given her opportunities that nothing else in the world would have. It had taught her the power of silence and stealth. She had been able to get away with anything as a child if she didn’t make noise. And her quirk gave her an advantage in combat and in more delicate missions for secrecy. Her quirk had put her on the track to be a hero. She had learned to embrace what she could do and who she was. She was invisible and that was fine.
She still longed for color though. It had influenced her as a child who had been drawn to games of dress-up and finger painting more than jump rope or tag. Dress-up changed and grew alongside her as she aged, until it wasn’t trunks of oversized clothing Hagakure tore through, but fashion magazines that she devoured and makeup tutorials were watched enough to be an expert in the subjects. Finger painting gave way and transformed into other mediums of art. Pastel chalks and paints in the oil, watercolor, and acrylic mediums brought her comfort and expanded her world. They gave her the ability to capture the colors she saw in everyday life in a way she could never seize for herself.
And if that knowledge of colors and how they worked for others helped people she cared about, well so much for the better.
“Can you help me?” Ochako stood in the doorway of Hagakure’s room, twisting the hem of her sweatshirt between nervous fingers. The gray fabric was worn and faded in some places and had splashes of paint in others, showing its age.
“What did you need?” Hagakure bounded over to Ochako, tugging her friend and classmate further into the room.
“I… I wanted to look nice for the first day of my internship,” Ochako murmured, cheeks staining pink as a blush worked across her creamy skin. “But I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Ooh! You came to the right place.” Hagakure reassured her friend, tugging the brunette further into her dorm room, decorated in warm citrines and the burnt oranges of the current season. She pressed Ochako to sit on her bed and flew to open the closet doors, where clothes of every style and color burst forth. She giggled and turned back to face Ochako. “I have everything! You’re taller than me by a little bit, but I think I can work around that. Soft pastels are best for you, especially since your complexion is so pretty! I think pink would look sweet, but you wear it in your hero costume. You don’t want to do your signature color too much. I think periwinkle blue would be gorgeous too. Would you be willing to do a dress?”
“Um.” Ochako blinked, clearly caught off guard by Hagakure’s many questions. “Whatever you think is best?”
“Perfect! I have a dress that will look really good. It doesn’t fit me, but it will look super cute on you. I’m so glad I bought it now.” Hagakure turned to dig through her wardrobe, bypassing the strappy tank-tops of ripe tangerine and chunky sweaters of apricot she’d been so attracted to recently.
“What about shoes? And if you could teach me anything about makeup-” Ochako began, uncertainty evident in every word.
“I can help,” Hagakure soothed, drifting back over to the bed to wrap her arms around Ochako. “You have such expressive eyes. It’ll be easy to play them up with some soft colors and a winged eyeliner. We’ll go with natural and pretty, play up your blush and skin with highlighters and cream blushes. You’ll look like you, just a little more glammed.”
“Thanks.” Ochako smiled slightly and leaned into Hagakure’s embrace. “How do you know all this?”
“Makeup is just another palette for me to play with. Same with clothes.” Hagakure brushed brunette locks behind Ochako’s ear.
“I’ve never seen you wear it.” Ochako glanced up, a frown tugging pink lips down.
“Oh.” Hagakure waved the concern aside with ease and a laugh. “It would be silly to have a hero like Invisible Girl wear makeup. I wouldn’t be much good then, right?”
Hagakure didn’t let it bother her. She had long ago made peace with the fact that she couldn’t wear makeup the way other women could. She would never be able to use it to enhance her features on camera or enchant the media- not unless there was some gala for heroes. She’d have to rely on her fun personality to gain public approval instead. And she would. The work would be worth it, she’d wanted to be a hero her whole life. Her quirk wasn’t flashy but she would just use that to her advantage too.
“Your style is wonderful. You have an eye for fashion, and I’m envious of your ability to try new things,” Momo said from the doorway. She stepped tentatively into the room. “Do you mind the intrusion? I would like your opinion on a new product recommended to me.”
“Sure!” Hagakure chirped, motioning to her bedspread where Ochako was already sitting. “What are we talking about?”
Momo held out a sleek black eyeshadow palette. “Here.”
Hagakure squealed and reached for it, popping the top up with a quiet snick the moment she held it in her hands. Jeweled shades of oranges lay nestled in the circles for each shadow, ranging from pale champagnes to deep tawnies and rusts as the palette moved in gradation. “It’s so beautiful. The colors… Oh, please say I can try swatching it on your skin.”
“Sure.” Momo smiled. “It was a good suggestion?”
“Everyone is talking about it,” Hagakure confirmed. “Just give me a few minutes to help Ochako.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Ochako bit her lip. “You seem excited to try out the eyeshadows.”
“I want to help,” Hagakure insisted. “Trust me, I have clothes in every shade possible. I’ll find you something.”
She closed the lid with a click and set it aside to tackle her closet again, determined to help Ochako feel her most confident and beautiful on the first day of her internship. As she talked options and had Ochako try on outfit after outfit drawing in the rest of the Class A girls, all of them piling onto the bed and floor and offering their opinions, it wasn’t so much the palette her eyes kept coming back to. It was the colors within the confines of the eyeshadow palette that called to Hagakure in a silent chorus, inspiring and providing a base for a new artwork. The creation began forming in her mind’s eye and her hands itched for a paintbrush instead of a makeup brush.
Soon, she promised herself.
OoOoO
“You look like a rainbow.”
Hagakure glanced away from her canvas, caught by surprise at the comment. Mina leaned against the glass balcony door of Hagakure’s room, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” Hagakure laughed, complimented by Mina’s statement. “Why do I look like a rainbow?”
“I could tell, you were wrapped up in your art when I opened the door. I was going to ask if you wanted to go out for crepes but I guess you’re busy.” Mina shifted closer to take a look at the canvas.
“Careful,” Hagakure warned. “Oil paints don’t come out in the wash. That’s why I wear my paint clothes.”
“Hence looking like a rainbow?” Mina asked, eyes dancing with amusement and curiosity.
“I think paint-splattered mess is better,” Hagakure giggled. The sweatshirt, t-shirt, and jeans she had on were all covered in various paints from over the years. She was lucky in some ways that she had stayed so short. Breaking in painting clothes was a long process, made all the more painful for someone who loved fashion like she did. It was a necessary sacrifice, but a sacrifice nonetheless. “But yeah, I wear these anytime I paint, but especially with oil.”
“Your palette looks like your clothes.” Mina stepped closer again, gaze on the palette that Hagakure’s parents had gifted her with when they had heard the news she’d been accepted to U.A. “How do you keep all the colors straight? I mean most of it is orange, so I guess it doesn’t matter…”
“Different shades,” Hagakure corrected softly, her attention on the partially finished canvas again. “Each shade has its place on the canvas and on the palette. I just know where they all are.” She dipped her brush in a ceramic mug full of other paint-splattered brushes and turpentine.
“Does that mug say ‘Paint Water’ on it?” Mina gasped, delighted with the observation. “Why?”
“It’s a joke between me and my father,” Hagakure said, dipping her brush into the vibrant pumpkin orange, then touched it to the canvas with quick strokes. “I have a mug for hot chocolate or coffee that says ‘Not Paint Water’ on it too.”
“I think I’d like your father,” Mina said from behind Hagakure. “Is me being here gonna bother you?”
“No.” Hagakure shook her head. “As long as the turpentine fumes don’t bother you, I don’t mind.”
“Your hands are covered in paint.” Mina motioned out of the corner of Hagakure’s eye.
“Oil paint gets everywhere,” Hagakure agreed. She gestured to her clothes. “That’s why I have these.”
“No, I mean- I’ve never seen your hands before,” Mina corrected.
“Oh,” Hagakure paused, brush hovering over the canvas,
“It’s not bad,” Mina said quickly. “I like the oranges. It’s like your color.”
“I don’t have a color.” Hagakure frowned, turning to look at Mina.
Hagakure wondered what Mina might see when she looked at her. It wasn’t like there was much to look at other than paint-stained clothes and hands. There never was. Hagakure was literally see-through, especially without any kind of apparel. That was what her heroic name and abilities were based on. Hagakure had accepted that she was invisible, that her quirk didn’t come with an off button. She liked who she was, liked who she had turned herself into.
But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt on occasion, that she was so forgettable. That without her bubbly personality to make up for it, people could actually forget she was around. She was invisible, colorless, while the world around her burst with it.
“None of us have a color, it’s not like we were assigned one at birth.” Mina cocked her head, watching Hagakure carefully.
“Everyone has a color,” Hagakure said into the quiet, the smell of oil paints and turpentine mingling as the breeze danced across the balcony. “The whole world has color, why wouldn’t people?”
“Like who?” Mina frowned.
“Bakugou is oranges and golds,” Hagakure pointed out. “He’s vibrant, dangerous, and loud, like orange. And the gold is because he’s clearly powerful and a rising star. We all know he’s going places. Midoriya is greens and golds, I think the reasons behind those are obvious. Ochako is shades of pastels, while you’re vibrant and loud colors, eye-catching like magenta pinks and ruby reds. Everyone is a color- has a color or two that defines them in a way. I don’t have color. I’m…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence, the thought.
“Just because you’re invisible doesn’t make you less,” Mina argued. “You’re vibrant, warm, creative, and joyful. You’re all the things orange is too- outside of danger and pride. You don’t think we’ve all noticed how you gravitate towards it? Out of all the colors you paint or buy, you don’t think orange is part of you?”
“It’s Bakugou’s.” Hagakure bit her lower lip. “He’s…”
“He doesn’t have a copyright on the color and all its shades,” Mina deadpanned. “He doesn’t own it.”
“I know!” Hagakure protested. ”I know he doesn’t own it.”
She looked down at her hands, covered in oil paints of different colors and shades of orange. Hands that she never saw until she picked up paints or pastels, until color literally stained her skin. Had orange been part of her more than any other color? She could admit to being drawn to the warmth and joy the color evoked in her mind and soul. Mina was right in that she bought that color often, in any shade she could find. She had learned how to work with oil paints by using orange shades. The first time she had been able to keep the colors from muddying still hung on her parents’ living room wall.
She glanced at the canvas, partially done and already bursting with the shades and variants of orange. A painting that already brought her joy.
“I can claim it as mine because it brings me joy?” Hagakure murmured, asking herself as much as Mina.
“No one’s gonna tell you that you can’t have a favorite color, even when you like all the others.” Mina nodded. “It doesn’t make you less of Hagakure. And if someone says otherwise, I’ll kick their ass for you.”
Hagakure laughed, mood brightening again. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mina.”
“Never find out.” Mina winked. “Now I wanna see how you create. I’ve been relying on the same store-bought cards for holidays and glitter and glue for crafts since I was little. Let’s see.”
“Sure,” Hagakure agreed easily, elation like bubbles of champagne and sunlight in her bloodstream as she turned back towards the canvas. “Watch and learn.”
“Fat chance.” Mina laughed, and Hagakure laughed with her.
OoOoO
The painting was one Hagakure was going to hang in every home she owned once she graduated from U.A. For now, it hung above her bed in her dorm, a constant reminder that she was only as invisible as she allowed herself to be. Every life needed the blacks, the blues, and the purples that created the background of her painting and made up the tree trunk and reaching branches. Every life needed color, both the good and bad.
But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t choose what she did with that, who she was. Deep yellows and pale oranges of fallen leaves carpeted the ground, darkening at the edges of the canvas. Buttery and golden oranges deepened into vibrant and vivid oranges as the leaves reached towards the sky. It was a tree in autumn in all its glory, vivacious against the darker background.
It was Hagakure, as she wanted to be. As she would be each day. It was a visual reminder for when she felt invisible in more than her quirk, that she was in control of herself.
If she wanted to be orange, she would be. No one could stop her, not even herself.