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Enji was, very suddenly, glad that he’d forced his gaze upward as he walked, rather than staring at the ground during his evening stroll. If he hadn’t, he might not have seen her.
Sitting by herself on a bench, her legs tucked up towards her chest, holding a small sketchbook and a pencil, was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Bright white hair pulled back into a haphazard bun, several strands loose and waving in the gentle breeze. Stone-gray eyes glancing between her sketchbook and a patch of flowers near the bench. In the fading light of a winter afternoon, she looked ethereal.
His breath caught in his throat. Should I say something? Do I introduce myself? Would that be weird? He could’ve sworn his mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour, and yet the only thought in his teenage head was ‘oh shit, pretty girl’. His heartbeat picked up a little as he got closer, painfully slowly, his walking speed having unintentionally dwindled to a crawl. He nearly had a heart attack when gray eyes flicked towards him, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Thus, the most awkward ten seconds of unblinking eye contact he had ever experienced.
Enji managed to forcibly drag his soul back into his body, regaining a sense of embarrassment, and he finally looked away, fighting to keep his face from — very literally — catching fire. When he glanced back, briefly, he saw that she was still tracking him with her eyes, an expression of curiosity on her face, as if she was waiting to see what he would do next.
His eyes kept darting over to her, involuntarily, as he kept walking. Every time, she was still staring back. Eventually, when he was close enough to see the pencil-marks on the page of her sketchbook, he cleared his throat and blurted, “What are you drawing?”
She looked surprised, like she hadn’t expected him to actually say something. Regardless, she pointed towards the flowers. Enji kicked himself, mentally. Of course she’s drawing the flowers, you idiot. “Amaryllises,” she said. “They’re my favorites.”
His head turned towards the patch of flowers. “They’re very pretty,” he said after a beat of silence. His focus turned back to her. “As are you.”
Enji stiffened, his whole body cringing. What am I doing, why did I say that, that came out of nowhere, she’s going to think I’m a creep, what if—
A giggle cut through his spiraling thoughts. He stared with a disbelieving expression. Is- is she laughing at me?
She was, in fact, laughing at him, her hand covering her mouth.
His face really did light aflame, now, fire flickering across his cheeks. This only seemed to amuse her further, giggles turning into laughter so contagious that Enji’s horrified and embarrassed expression cracked into a smile, and shortly after, he started to laugh, too.
“Himura Rei,” she said a minute later, after catching her breath.
“Todoroki Enji,” he managed in response.
“Hero name: Endeavor?” Enji blinked, a little startled, and Himura noticed the reaction. She smiled, sheepish. “I watch U.A.’s Sports Festivals.”
“And, you remembered me?” The question slipped out before he could think twice about it.
Himura’s face took on a slight flush, and she ducked her head. “Yes, I did. You made yourself pretty memorable.”
Enji asked if he could sit with her. She said yes. The awkwardness faded gradually to conversation; questions about hobbies and favorite school subjects, complaints about parents and curfews, joking comments about friends from school. Himura resumed her sketching of the flowers as they talked.
Himura was very artistic, Enji discovered, her abilities going far beyond sketching flowers in a park. She liked using ink pens, and colored pencils. She had an assortment of watercolors and oil pastels, and canvases for both. Occasionally, she had said, she liked to stop by a ceramics studio and sculpt or paint something there. She liked to use her quirk to make ice sculptures, focusing on precision and control rather than power, even though her quirk was clearly very strong.
Maybe I could learn a thing or two from her, he thought, recalling how volatile his own quirk was. The conversation had him thinking about just how much he had focused on raw strength, which, he realized, might be more of a hinderance than a benefit, if he had so much power but so little true control over it.
Enji had asked if she wanted to have a career as an artist, and she had snorted a laugh. “I’d rather keep my hobby a hobby,” she’d said, “and not a profession.” She also told him, however, that she was interested in floristry as a possible job.
Himura inquired about his experience at U.A.; how the teachers were, whether he thought the classes were different from non-hero schools or not, how his classmates were.
He didn’t notice how late it had gotten until Himura asked if he had to be home soon. He looked at his watch — 7:16p.m., how had that happened?! — and told her that, yes, he did, and thanked her for reminding him. She gave a smile, saying that she should also start heading home.
“Will you be here tomorrow?” Enji asked, feeling embarrassed to ask, despite the hour-and-a-half of conversation they’d just had.
Himura nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Will you?”
“I’ll be here,” he said.
Enji didn’t sleep much that night.