Work Text:
Yusuke stretches his arm out and flexes. It’s completely fine. Better than fine, it’s like new.
Certainly not like a shadow had beaten it into a purple pulp just thirty minutes earlier.
It’s funny how used he got to the shadows and their predictable patrols, the rhythm and cadence of battles. So much so, he wasn’t prepared for one to rush forward grab his shoulder, slam him to the ground and just. Keep. Hitting. Him.
By the end his arm was bent backwards, sharp white bones poking out of bruised flesh, and Yusuke was sure the pain would kill him before the shadow did.
Then Joker and the others pushed it back, Panther healed him, and it was like nothing ever happened.
In fact it was better than new, the soreness from the night before when he’d been lugging cans of paint and canvases up and down the stairs was gone as well, and on the scratches from him picking at a scab as well.
This is a good thing. Objectively, Yusuke knows this. He could figure out how to paint while down an arm but he’s glad he doesn’t have to, even temporarily. So why can’t he stop thinking about it? The whole scenario couldn’t have lasted more than a minute, but it’s lingering in his mind anyway.
“Yusuke, what are you working on?” Sensei asks.
Yusuke’s not quite sure, staring down at the painting. It’s a mess of deep purples and reds, with sharp jagged bits of white standing out in sharp contrast.
“I’m simply, getting something off my mind,” Yusuke mutters.
“Getting warmed up is fine, but remember people will be expecting something new after my exhibition,” Sensei says. “And this is too similar to my previous piece.”
Yusuke bites his tongue. When he’d painted that last piece he was angry, venting. Harsh strokes and paint splatters that he’d hoped would destroy the canvas.
This is considerably different. It’s calm, and solemn, and utilizes contrast because Yusuke was almost murdered by the monsters within his teacher’s heart .
For a brief second he wishes his arm hadn’t been healed, that it was still destroyed, and Yusuke could tell Madarame it was his fault, that his own darkness had destroyed his golden goose this time.
It wouldn’t have mattered, Yusuke knows. Madarame isn't the type of man to be able to recognize something as the consequences of his own actions. He’d either force Yusuke to paint with his other arm, or use Yusuke's predicament to garner sympathy before quietly finding someone else to replace him, as one does when their tools outlive their usefulness.
But the thought is delicious, the idea that Madarame can fully understand what his actions have wrought. That that man will finally feel an ounce of the pain the other pupils suffered and fear for his future for once.
Yusuke takes a deep breath and pulls out his notepad. He should start working on the calling card. The Change of Heart is probably the closest he’ll ever get to the thing he really wants.