Chapter Text
Motivational posters, inspirational quotes, oppressively positive messages… Shinsou hated them more than anything with their pastel backgrounds and bright white calligraphy font. They never failed to inspire a certain primal rage in him, a deep desire to destroy, to rip all those glittery and glossy cards and posters to shreds. Then, maybe use those shreds to start a fire in a trash can buried away in some musty old alleyway. Shinsou sat alone in a brightly lit office with walls that just so happened to be lined to the brim with such inspirational posters. The only break from their over-bearing cheerfulness was the large window on the wall across the room. Its curtains were drawn aside, allowing sunlight to spool over the desk that sat between Shinsou and the window.
He flexed his hands, only vaguely aware of the signature ache in them that came from clenching his fists for too long as his eyes distrustfully danced around the room. There were only two things about this office that Shinsou actually liked. First, was the coffee machine tucked away in the corner and the little spinner of dehydrated cream packets that sat next to it. Unfortunately, all of the coffee pods had been used (most likely by Shinsou since he was the one who ended up visiting this office the most, and was also probably one of the only visitors who actually drank the cheap, but free coffee). For what it was worth, he tried to re-use a punctured coffee pod that sat in the little bowl on the coffee bar counter, but the hot water only came out a lightly tinted brown after running through the pod.
Thus, Shinsou was left to try to enjoy the second thing in the office that didn’t inspire unbridled rage, and it was ironically an inspirational poster. However, this one was special and an exception to his unnatural hatred for the rest of the posters and cards that were pinned and taped haphazardly across the walls. It was significantly smaller than the rest of the signs, and featured a kitten hanging from a tree branch with text below that read, ‘ Hang In There!’ in a bold comic sans font. He eyed the tabby kitten, admiring the stripes on his fur and the soft belly fuzz that was exposed to the camera as he struggled to hang onto the branch with his front two feet.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, specifically high heels, clicking loudly and confidently as they approached the office. Dread washed over Shinsou. He hated these mandatory visits. Counselor Himari had a smile bright enough to rival the sunshine that was currently spilling across her office, but the smiles she flashed at Shinsou during their sessions were filled with pity, and the way her honey-sweet voice would say, “I look forward to seeing you next week” as he reaches for the doorknob at the end of their sessions always made him want to yell. He didn’t want to see her next week, and he was sure that deep down she didn’t really want to see him next week either. Yet, they repeated this routine, this little dance of theirs.
Shinsou drew in a deep breath, straightening his back and giving the reassuring kitten poster one more look as Counselor Himari reached the door. She entered the room as cheerful as ever, a smile practically tattooed to her face. Shinsou tried to smile back, but it probably came out as more of a grimace, or maybe his expression wasn’t even noticeable at all and his face remained blank. Either way, Himari made her way to the desk, sitting down and leaning forward to trifle through the papers on her desk, humming thoughtfully under her breath.
“So,” she started the same way they did every session, “are you ready to rock and roll Hitoshi-kun?”
“Sure,” was always his light and casual reply, but what he really wanted to say was, ‘let's just get this over with’. It sat unspoken in the back of his throat along with so many other things.
“Alrighty, well…” she shifted a paper to the front of her stack, “I have some exciting news to share! It looks like your PCL-5 scores have gone down 8 points in the last few weeks. I know it can sometimes feel like we’re not making any progress here, but that's why keeping track of these is so important. It’s proof of all the hard work you’ve been putting into our sessions. What do you think?” She tilted her head, eyes trained on Shinsou, patiently waiting for his response while twirling a glitter pen in her fingers.
Shinsou thought that he was playing the long game pretty well… He had been lying on Himari’s weekly PCL-5 tests. Sure, they were meant to help him, and he knew that fudging them was wrong, but there was a part of him that felt guilty when he answered honestly. When the scores went up instead of down. When he was getting worse instead of better. He worried that Himari would worry… that she would think she wasn’t a good enough counselor if his scores kept climbing. But most of all, it was just easier to lie than to face his problems. Besides, he knew that these mandatory sessions would end once he got the scores into the “acceptable” range (which was only a few weeks away if he kept lying at his current rate).
“That uh, yeah… I think that’s good. I can definitely see the progress,” he confidently said instead, lying through his teeth like it was nothing.
“That’s great! Ok, so…” she shuffled the papers again. She was notoriously bad about keeping his file organized and he guessed that the rest of her patient’s files looked the same. A few moments later she found the desired page of her notes from their last session, “last time we left off on the incident in the cafeteria with Masaru-Kun. Do you feel up to continuing that?”
He nodded, fighting the urge to leave the room because talking about that incident again was the last thing he actually wanted to do right now. They had been over this, and he really didn’t see the point in doing it again, but if it made the time go by faster than to hell with it, might as well.
Their hour together passed painstakingly slow. Thankfully, Himari was in a chatty mood today so she ended up doing most of the talking during their session which was fine by Shinsou. He actually preferred it that way. He had the occasional nod and ‘I agree’ down to a science at this point… just enough to seem like he was actually invested and paying attention.
When the gentle wind chime alarm sounded from Himari’s phone, marking the end of their time, Shinsou felt a relieved sigh on his lips as he stood from the chair with stiff legs. He headed for the door, pausing to turn back as he reached for the handle so he could perform his weekly dance with the counselor.
His eyes met hers and he thought he saw a flicker of concern behind them, but it was gone in a second if it had ever even been there in the first place, and she continued on like normal, “I look forward to seeing you next week, Hitoshi-Kun,”
“Yeah, see you next week. Thank you,” and then he was gone, out the door and making his way down the school’s halls.
He was grateful that the sessions were after-class hours. The last thing he needed was the other kids to see him practically running out of the Counselor’s Office every Monday. Shinsou shoved his hands in his pockets, fishing around for his tangled pair of headphones, one earbud still intact while the other was smothered in duct tape in an attempt to safeguard against its exposed wires. But suddenly, he stopped mid-stride to turn around, almost tripping over his own long legs in the process. He could have sworn he felt eyes on him from the other end of the darkened hall, but there was no one there. The only noise that could be heard was the sound of Himari’s heels as she walked from her desk to the file cabinet in her office and the gentle whirring of the ventilation system overhead.
Shinsou shrugged the feeling away as quickly as it came. Clicking shuffle on his favorite playlist and bursting out of the school’s back doors, he felt some of the nervous energy drain from his body. The clean evening air hit his lungs and orange sunlight graced his pale skin, warmth seeping through his clothes, but not overbearingly so. It was late spring now and the trees were probably as green as they could be. He hummed along to the song in his earbuds, its lyrics were in English, so he couldn’t really understand the lyrics, but that was ok because it was mainly the melody that he enjoyed. His shoes occasionally scuffed the pavement as he headed to the convenience store down the street to pick up the list of items that Ren, Shinsou’s current foster parent, had sent him.
Ren was a nice enough guy. He wasn’t overbearing and while he was prone to bouts of moodiness, he rarely yelled or took them out on Shinsou. Was he a caring parent that could provide emotional support or words of encouragement to Shinsou? No, not necessarily, but he did his duty as guardian well and he cared enough to encourage Shinsou’s mandatory counseling sessions, and for Shinsou, that was enough. There was always food, clean clothing, and an allowance to spend so long as he stayed out of trouble. Besides, adoption at the age of 16 was difficult to come by, and Ren specialized in fostering older teens until their legal adulthood came around. He was lonely, but cared for.
The convenience store was busy, but that was to be expected around this time of day as people rushed to find missing ingredients before the rest of their dinner finished cooking at home. He could see a large group of customers huddled around the only two registers inside, and an even larger group of teens were loitering and blocking the entrance. Shinsou tried to squeeze past them, but the group ebbed to and fro as if they were one mass of breathing flesh, arms hanging around each other’s necks, sharing inside jokes, sharing bottles of iced tea from the vending machine around the corner, sharing their lives with one another.
“Ahem,” he cleared his voice, and suddenly all the eyes in the mass of flesh and arms and bottled tea turned to face him. He could feel the heat of embarrassment rising in his face, “I uh-,” he gestured towards the door hoping the charades would make up for his sudden loss of speech, “the door please.”
“Oh! Sorry!” a girl’s voice said from within the mass followed by a series of bubbly giggles as the group ambled a few feet away.
Shinsou ducked his head in thanks but then decided to keep it down in order to avoid meeting all of their eyes as he passed into the loud store. He could still feel their gaze on the back of his neck even as he rounded the corner. It wasn’t until he made it to the canned food aisle that the feeling of being watched disappeared completely. Pulling Ren’s list up on his phone, Shinsou set to work gathering the requested items.
After an hour he was waiting in line for his turn at one of the two registers, and after another hour, he was back home, laying in bed scrolling through his phone, groceries having already been put away in the pantry. He glanced at the time on his phone, 8:00 pm, before shutting it off and rolling off his bed to land on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Ren wouldn’t be home from work for another 2 hours.
I should make something for dinner. He thought as he continued to lay there, pointedly not moving to make dinner. I should also take a shower… and do my laundry. I think I have homework too. His back stayed firmly against the wooden floorboards, a small draft occasionally dancing across his cheeks from the ceiling fan. He tried to focus on one of its blades, watching it spin round and round and round and-
“This is stupid.” He pushed himself off the floor defiantly and headed to the kitchen. He would not only make himself dinner, but he would also make Ren dinner goddamnit. Then he would do all of his goddamned laundry and all the goddamned homework. Maybe his anger was a little irrational, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care too much at the moment.
Rice was easy to make, especially with a cooker that did roughly 90% of the work, so thats what they would have for dinner; white rice with a vegetable curry on top. The curry was a little more time-consuming, but the steady rhythm of the knife clacking into the wooden cutting board and the curling smoke which was heavy with spice were always a welcome type of monotony. Cooking was predictable. It was routine.
Shinsou stared at the frying pan, watching the condensation on the lid drip its way back into the pan as wisps of smoke weaved around the simmering vegetables and occasionally, escaping up through the cracks of the lid, whirl into the air, brushing his cheeks with their wet warmth. The Kitchen’s Kiss… or at least that's what someone had told him once, long ago. Was it his mother who had said that, or maybe it was just a kind cook from his time at the orphanage? He liked to imagine that it had been his mother’s words.
He inhaled deeply, letting the spices warm his lungs. The apartment’s front door opened and closed again, a heavy sigh filling the air as Ren kicked his shoes off before making his way into the kitchen. He passed by Shinsou, tossing his briefcase on the table. If he saw how the dishes were laid out with care or noticed that Shinsou was using the larger pan to cook for more than one person, then he didn’t say anything.
When he did speak, his voice was slightly bored but not unkind, “How was school kiddo?”
Shinsou stirred the vegetables nervously, poking at a particularly large piece of broccoli that refused to boil down to something more edible, “It was fine… how was your day?”
“Hmm, good,” Ren absently mindedly hummed in response. He was an older man, grey hair showing near his temples, and the few age wrinkles he had given no indication of his temperament. They spoke of neither a kind man nor of a cruel man; his face was simply neutral. His mannerisms, his speech, it was all neutral, but there was always a softness in his voice that gave away his underlying kindness and patience. Despite this, Shinsou and Ren had never really connected, and from what the boy understood, that’s how all of Ren’s relationships with all of his foster kids had been. He was simply a home, a legal guardian, and a provider until they were legal adults.
This conversation was routine for the two of them. Similar to how Shinou’s conversations with counselor Himari were routine. Both calculated, both not really meaningful.
Ren opened his briefcase, pulling out his work laptop and setting it on the table, pushing a carefully placed plate out of the way as he did so.
Giving up on the stubborn broccoli, Shinsou grabbed his plate and scooped the rice and vegetables in it, “I made enough for you too… If you, uh, want it.”
“Ah, thanks. Maybe later though,” Ren’s eyes never left the laptop, “Did you finish your homework for the night?”
Shinsou hummed, rocking back and forth on his heels, anxiously wishing that Ren would look up at him, acknowledge him or smile for once… some confirmation of Shinsou’s presence, “Mmm, not yet.”
A pause. Shinsou held his breath, and Ren continued typing, unfazed.
“I-I’ll go finish it now,”
Ren didn’t reply, he probably didn’t even hear Shinsou with as quietly as had spoken, but the older man’s brow furrowed further as something on the laptop caught his attention, typing growing slightly more intense. Shinsou silently left to work on his assignments, a steaming bowl of rice still in his hands, feeling less hungry and more like a ghost who fed on its loneliness as he glided down the hallway.
~~~~~
Shinsou woke up breathing heavily and covered in a thin layer of sweat, causing his sweatshirt to stick to his body making it feel like a million hot hands were clinging to his skin. He sat up quickly, taking the damp sweatshirt off and tossing it across the room. This recurring nightmare used to only happen once or twice a week, (in addition to a few other ones that always escaped his memory upon waking), but lately it had been happening almost every night. Some nights there would be back-to-back nightmares and at that point, he just gave up on sleep altogether.
One would think that re-living the same dream over and over would get boring, that you would know what to expect and be less terrified as time went on, but for Shinsou that wasn’t the case. Every time he woke up in his dreams, eyes meeting a dark, empty, classroom, his heart would instantly start warming up for a marathon. The dream wasn’t short either, no, it was a long-drawn-out memory, a bunch of memories really, all merged into one horrific monster with claws that warped around Shinsou’s neck, snaking down his throat, killing his voice as his eyes remained trained the bloodied bodies that layed at his feet on the polished school floors. No- he didn’t want to go there right now.
Something was chiming softly next to him. Oh, it's just my alarm , he quickly muted it even though it was far too quiet to disturb Ren who was fast asleep on the other side of the apartment.
It was 1:00 am, or as Shinsou liked to call it, Vigilante Time. He had been doing these nightly activities for almost two years now, and he wasn’t really sure why he continued it. They had started as a form of escape from daily life with his previous foster parents who weren’t nearly as good to him as Ren was. Things were better now, yet he still felt the streets calling out to him, beckoning for him to come to prove his worth, prove that his quirk could be used for something good, that he could do something good.
His dreams of attending UA were long since gone. In his first year of high school, he had clung to threads of hope that maybe they would accept transfers from other high schools, but now he was about to enter his third year. At this point, he would be lucky if he could just get into some community college that wasn’t quirk discriminatory and work towards a degree in public service or something that would still let him help people. The more he thought about it, the more he frowned on how young the Public Safety Commission hired their Heros; just children, fresh out of high school, only a small percentage attending any forms of higher education.
Of course, he was a hypocrite, he realized as he rolled out of bed and started getting into his patrol outfit to go play hero at the same age as most hero students. But one can’t help wanting what they can’t have, can they?
He stole a glance in his bathroom mirror to ensure everything was in place; a black beanie to cover his unruly lavender hair, a black re-usable face mask with two little air filters on either side to further obscure his identity, an old grey hoodie with a faded Deep Purple band logo on it (which he thought was fitting considering his hair color and all), black cargo pants with pockets bulging from first aid supplies, pepper spray, duct tape, zip ties, and anything else he thought was necessary, and finally black combat boots with a knife tucked in the right one. All together, Shinsou thought he looked pretty cool but unassuming enough to not draw too much attention.
He quietly slid his window open and slipped into the night, a patrol route already lined up in his mind. The downtown of this district was always busy, and the only heroes that were ever on patrol were all underground, meaning they had no issue with some slightly illegal vigilantes helping them out here and there. Just as he had guessed, not even 15 minutes into his route, he was already sprinting down an alley to intercept a purse snatcher.
Before he knew it, his planned 2-hour patrol was bordering on a 3-hour one. If he went home now, he should have enough time to catch 2-3 hours of sleep before he had to be up again for school, but just as he turned to head home, another yell reached his ears and he was off again, heels slamming into the cold pavement as he skidded around corners.
For all his practice stopping fights and developing street smarts, he still made rookie mistakes occasionally. Now was one of those times, he realized as he rounded a corner too tightly and ran face-first into another person. Their heads knocked together hard, sending both backward. Shinsou landed roughly on the ground, breath painfully knocked out of his lungs. Unluckily for the vigilante, the other person, a wiry man with wild eyes, regained his senses faster and was on top of him in a flash, hands wrapping around his throat tightly.
Shinsou’s eyes struggled to focus as his empty lungs weren’t able to regain their oxygen. He thrust his arms up, forcing his fingers into the other man’s eyes which caused him to let go of the vigilante’s neck for a brief moment, but the victory of sweet sweet oxygen was short-lived as the wild man on top of him quickly retaliated with a hard blow against Shinsou’s cheek, causing his neck to whip to the side, catching sight of several pairs of boots fast approaching their fight.
He needed to end this quickly before those unknown people got too close, but also because he didn’t want to go through the trouble of explaining bruises all over his face and neck… injuries anywhere else were easier to hide, but these were a pain in the ass, he thought bitterly as he opened his mouth to the end the fight with his secret weapon, “Who are you?”
“I-” the wiry man’s wild eyes glazed over the instant he started to reply, his raised fist dropping as his body went slack.
“Get off,” Shinsou commanded in a slightly panicked voice, and quickly scrambled back to his feet as the heavy footfalls of three more men approached rapidly. He could only hold one person in his mind control right now, he hadn’t been able to strengthen it much more than that. He also knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his own in a fight against multiple people, but when he turned to run, he found that one of the men had split from the group and was blocking the alley’s exit. He whirled back around to meet the other’s two men’s gazes.
They were all built like boxers with muscles bulging under the fancy suits they wore… Yakuza. AKA, the one group that Shinsou tried his hardest to actually avoid. The vigilante nervously shifted on his feet, reaching up to ensure his mask and beanie were still securely in place. The last thing he needed was the goddamned mafia knowing who he was and following him.
“Well, well,” the taller of the two men began, words drawn out and casual as if he had just run into an old buddy from his school days, “looks like you just made our jobs a whole lot easier by catching this ol’ rat for us.” He ran a hand covered with silver and gold rings through his blonde hair as he looked Shinsou up and down. There honestly wasn’t much to look at… the vigilante was tall and thin; not the most intimidating of physiques.
Shinsou could feel nervous energy humming through his bones, or maybe it was just the electrical buzz of the rickety street lamp that he was currently standing under, illuminated by its yellow-orange circle of light which ended at the polished dress shoes of the two yakuza members in front of him.
“Hey Ivan!” the shorter, stockier man chuckled, taking a step forward into the light to reveal his grey hair and a nasty scar that ran over the left side of his face, leaving one eye a blank milky white and the other eye a deep brownish-black. His one good eye sized up the brainwashed man that stood behind Shinsou, “Look at ol’ Ben. It's like he’s frozen…”
The blonde Yakuza, ( Ivan, Shinsou mentally noted) hummed in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to Shinsou, “Looks like we caught ourselves the Purple Devil tonight boys. Y’know, you’ve got a pretty price on your head,” that last part caught Shinsou off guard. He had been nothing but careful when it came to staying low with his nightly activities. Sure, people had given him various vigilante names, but he didn’t think any of them had ever actually stuck, let alone one that lent to the nature of his quirk. This was bad… running around the city alone at night with a “villainous” quirk was just asking to be coerced or kidnapped. Ivan took a threatening step forward but then hesitated to go any farther as if he had a newfound fear of Shinsou. He cleared his throat, “Rumor has it you can possess people, Devil Boy.”
A heavy silence hung in the air save for the electrical buzz overhead and the sound of water dripping from a broken pipe somewhere further down the alleyway. The yellowish pool of light at their feet flickered. Shinsou could feel a memory forcing itself up, one from the monster in his dreams, little bubbles rising from the depths of his mind. Classmates. Eyes. Cornered. Flashes of two bodies. “...rumor has it that Shinsou…”. Danger.
“Boss has a deal for you though,” Ivan cut off Shinsou’s spiraling mind, “you can either come work for us, or you can die here tonight.” The Yakuza member swept the front of his suit out of the way to rest his hands on either side of his hips (like a disappointed mom, Shinsou thought) to show off the pistol that glistened there, tucked securely beneath the belt, only inches from his hand. Shinsou had never seen a real gun before. He was… numb. He didn’t know what he felt right now. A staggering step backward and he bumped into the brainwashed Ol’ Ben. That was mistake number one.
The contact was enough to break Ol’ Ben from his trance and he instantly swung full force into his frenzy again, this time lunging for the shorter man next to Ivan with a wild yell on his lips. Shinsou turned to run for the exit, forgetting the third Yakuza member blocking it. That was his second mistake. He was reminded of the additional thug when a harsh punch made contact with his stomach which sent him doubling over to the floor. Shinsou’s hands pulled away from his ribs with a dark red liquid staining them. Panicked, he looked up to see the man towering above him with his fist already raised. A pair of sharpened brass knuckles glinted under the light of the yellow street lamp as his hand came down quickly, approaching Shinsou’s face for another blow.
Suddenly, three things happened at once; firstly, an ear-piercing shot rang out from behind Shinsou, noise ricocheting inside his skull painfully, secondly, the man in front of him was ripped backward by something that had wrapped around his wrist, successfully preventing the sharp metal knuckles from colliding with Shinsou’s cheekbone, and lastly, the buzzing street lamp above shattered, yellow light instantly swallowed by the darkness of the alley as broken glass rained down on him.
Shinsou stayed curled over himself on the ground, shivering slightly from the shock of everything and terrified to look up, to see what was going to happen next. Sounds of fighting reverberated through the narrow space, but it drifted lazily through the vigilante’s ears, almost like he was underwater. He had definitely gotten in over his head with this one… not that he really had much choice in whether he wanted to engage though. A warm trickle of blood sliding down his wrist pulled him back to reality though. Glass fell from his hair as his head shot up to survey his surroundings despite the clawing fear.
The man with the brass knuckles lay knocked out a few feet in front of him, Ol’ Ben was nowhere to be seen ( good riddance, you’re the one who got me into this, after all , he thought bitterly), and behind him was an ongoing fight between the remaining two Yakuza members and another figure clad in black with terrifying red glowing eyes and a grey scarf that shot through the air with concerning speed and accuracy. Shinsou wasn’t about to wait around long enough to figure out who that guy was.
Clumsily and with no regard for the shards of broken glass, he struggled to stand on shaking legs before booking it out of the alleyway. He sprinted down the street as fast as he could whispering ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,” to himself under his breath (he thought it was appropriate for his current situation). Just as he reached another corner, a voice yelled from behind him, “Hey! Stop!”
Shinsou did not stop. In fact, he tried to run faster, and the faster he ran, the faster he started saying ‘fuck’ until his ‘fuck’s’ had reached their terminal velocity and simply turned into panicked screaming. This terrifying man was using his scarf to swing from the lamp poles, the momentum quickly gaining more distance than Shinsou’s legs could.
As if his night wasn’t already going well enough, he tripped over some invisible obstacle, nearly landing in a face plant. He rolled onto his back just in time to see his pursuer shoot the scarf towards him, successfully wrapping around his ankle. There was a brief moment where Shinsou realized he had fucked up, a brief “oh shit” moment before the scarf was yanked and Shinsou followed with it.
When he finally opened his eyes again, he met a pair of glowing red eyes that were oozing with disappointment and
“Christ… I’m getting too old for this shit” the man standing above him mumbled under his breath before continuing louder, “I told you to stop running. That doesn’t mean run faster.”
The vigilante slowly pushed up to lean back on his elbows, terrified (but also slightly amused) by the man in front of him. Having a concealed identity always boosted his confidence though, it was yet another reason that he continued his nightly outings, so he surprised himself when he replied with a sarcastic comeback to the obviously dangerous stranger, “You didn’t say stop running. You just said stop. That’s a little ambiguous, don’t ya think? Stop what? Breathing? Thinking? Being amaz-”
“Talking?” the gruff stranger interrupted, “I think that would be a good place to start.”
Shinsou closed his mouth, but realizing the other man couldn’t see it due to his mask, he raised his hand and made a zipping motion from right to left across where his mouth would be. Now in better lighting and not running as fast as he could, the vigilante was able to get a closer look at the stranger that had saved his life. He was tall, probably a little taller than Shinsou, and had long black hair that was partially pulled back into a low bun, but some strands had escaped and cascaded in tangled strands across his shoulders. The bags under his eyes were impressive, to say the least. Aside from the long grey scarf, a pair of yellow goggles dangled from around his neck and he wore a dark grey jumpsuit with black combat boots. ‘ Homeless’ was the first word that drifted through Shinsou’s mind, followed shortly by ‘?? Underground Hero??’ with an emphasis on the question marks.
“First off, who are you?” the Hobo Hero demanded, firmly but not unkindly.
“The person you currently have tied up in your magic scarf,” Shinsou quipped back, trying to keep his voice lower so his age wasn’t given away.
Hobo Hero pinched the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to maintain his composure, “What’s your name?”
“You first.”
“Eraserhead.”
“Mmm…” Shinsou racked his brain for vigilante names, but since he had never planned on gaining any recognition, he decided to stick with the one that the Yakuza gave him moments ago, “Deep Purple?”
“That sounded like a question.”
“Geez… Deep. Purple.” Shinsou said, pronouncing each word as monotone as possible, “There, happy?”
“Thrilled,” Shinsou carefully brought himself to his feet, eyeing Eraserhead who still held the capture scarf in his hand. “Well then, Deep Purple,” the hero tried the name on his tongue, “are you the one who’s been keeping this district out of trouble?”
Shinsou’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t realize his nightly outings were making such a positive impact on those around him… that was always the goal of course, but he was still surprised that he was actually succeeding. He opened and closed his mouth, grateful for the mask.
“Guilty as charged I guess,” he let out a nervous chuckle, hoping the hero picked up on the underlying question that layed in his statement… Am I being charged?
Eraserhead considered him for a moment, eyes roving, looking, searching for some hidden clue in the way the tall vigilante in front of him held himself, the way his shoulders were tensed, the unknowable thoughts swimming behind his dark lilac eyes.
“How old are you?” the underground hero asked, momentarily dodging Shinsou’s hidden question.
“Just turned 23,” the believable lie rolled off his teeth smoothly.
Eraserhead nodded, letting the anticipation sink through the vigilante’s frame, hoping it would expose any impure intentions, but the kid stared back unwavering. There weren’t many people who could meet Aizawa’s scrutinizing eyes, let alone hold them in a stare.
“Ok,” is all the hero said, letting the capture weapon go slack in his hand before re-wrapping it carefully around his neck.
Shinsou shifted on his feet, testing his ankle to make sure it hadn’t been strained after being dragged a few feet by it. Nothing seemed amiss. The only pain he could feel was the dull throbbing on his stomach where the brass knuckles had dug through his skin. The vigilante kept his hands away from the area, not wanting the hero to know of his weakened condition just yet. If there’s one thing Shinsou was, it was slow to trust.
“I have no problem with vigilantes, another pair of boots on the ground never hurts,” Eraserhead began, voice steadily growing more serious, “I won’t push for any personal information, but like heroes, vigilantes still need to be held accountable for their actions. I will be your accountability,” he said the last part crystal clear, “the moment you step out of line, if you go too far, if I even think you are at risk of becoming an issue, I will not hesitate to bring you down.”
An oppressive silence hung over their heads, eye contact never breaking, as Shinsou slowly nodded, “I understand.”
“Good. Well, I have to get back to my patrol now. See you around Deep Purple.”
Shinsou was the first to turn and leave, trying not to walk too quickly away from the intimidating encounter with Eraserhead. He could feel the Underground Hero’s eyes tracking his movements until he rounded the corner, finally able to break into a sprint as he headed home.
It was 3:47 am by the time Shinsou finally rolled through his window, landing with a soft thud on his bedroom floor as his lanky legs finally gave out underneath him. It took all of his strength to resist the pulling urge of sleep, to keep the drape from closing over his consciousness while he layed panting on the floor. He was so tired, but he had to get back up. Slowly, he slipped out of his patrol outfit, biting his cheek as the clothing brushed against the wound on his stomach. Instead of folding the costume and hiding it on the upper shelf where it usually stayed, he opted to simply toss it all into the back of the closet, kicking dirty undergarments on top to act as a deterrent from any unwanted snooping.
His bed looked awfully welcoming at the moment, but he still needed to do one more crucial thing; damage control. He padded quietly out of his bedroom and towards the kitchen, retrieving an ice pack from the freezer. The coldness seeped into his cheek as he pressed the pack against his tender face… some of the bruises had probably already formed, blooming in yellows across his pale skin, but icing could prevent them from getting too nasty. He grabbed a second ice pack for his neck before heading back to the small bathroom attached to his bedroom.
Using his free hand, he fished the first aid kit out from the cramped cabinet beneath the sink. The wound wasn’t deep, but sanitization and propper bandaging were necessary. Something like this wouldn’t be easy to explain away if it got infected and he needed to see a professional. A few moments of mediocre first aid later and a thin swad of gauze was securely taped across his stomach.
He crawled back to the bed, eyelids already drooling lazily. Shinsou balanced the packs onto his beaten body, hoping they didn’t slide off as sleep reached its heavy hands out and dragged him back into the sweet sweet void of unconsciousness.