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There aren’t many things that Fumikage is scared of, but small children are one of them.
It’s unfortunate, therefore, that there is currently a very small child loose in the kitchen of the Class 1-A dorms.
And due to these less-than-ideal circumstances, Fumikage is now hiding from said small child. He checks again, nervously, if the child is still there. She is. The child stands in front of the refrigerator, shifting her weight from foot to foot as if in the throes of a difficult dilemma. He quickly ducks back behind the corner before she can spot him.
He needs to go in the kitchen. But as long as she is there, he cannot.
To Fumikage’s chagrin, a disgruntled, familiar voice pipes up from under his shirt. “What’s the hold-up, Fumi?” Dark Shadow gripes. Fumikage has to quiet his Quirk by force, hoping against hope that it hasn’t alerted the child to their presence.
Alas, today is a day where nothing is fated to go as hoped for.
The soft patter of small feet is the only warning a panicked teenager gets before the small child rounds the corner to peer unashamedly up at him.
“Are you one of Zawa’s Hero students?” she asks in an adorable little voice that lances Fumikage’s heart like one of those harpoons that whalers used back in the day.
“Yes, I am,” Fumikage replies, and desperately wills his feathers to lie as flat as physically possible. He suspects that he does not get very far.
“Why are you holding your shirt like that?” the small child asks next. Her bright red eyes glitter curiously—and no, the color is not at all like his own. Not in the least.
“Yeah—whatcha doin’, Fumi?” Dark Shadow whines despite Fumikage’s best efforts to keep it inside his chest, where it belongs when not frightening small children.
“Don’t be scared.” Fumikage breathes deeply, closing his eyes in a futile attempt at meditation. His therapist would be proud. “It’s just my Quirk; its name is Dark Shadow. It might look scary, but it won’t hurt you, I promise.”
“I wanna see!”
He cracks an eye open in surprise, then both when he sees her bouncing in place with no apparent fear. Instead, she tilts her head in a way that accentuates her cute little horn—not that Fumikage is swayed, no; he knows how these things always turn out.
He clears his throat, trying to regain control of the situation—and Dark Shadow. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be wise. Dark Shadow is easily excitable and I don’t want things to get out of hand.” I don't want to scare you. To add to the darkness that has already been too present in your short life.
“I’ll be good, Fumi!” his Quirk wheedles, although its continued thrashing points to the contrary. “I’ll just take a teeeeeny peek!”
“Yeah! Just a teeny little peek!” the small child chimes in, ganging up on him by siding with his spoiled Quirk. Really, Fumikage can’t tell which one is the actual preschooler here.
He heaves a great sigh until it feels as if his lungs would collapse inward on themselves. Perhaps that fate would be preferable to this, but the blessed release of death does not take him into its embrace. At last, Fumikage releases his shirt, and his Quirk, feeling the familiar sensation of Dark Shadow whooshing out of himself like wind leaving a funnel.
Dark Shadow wheels through the air, cackling, and Fumikage braces himself. For tears, or for screams. Neither come.
“It’s a bird!” the small child gasps with delight, spinning around in circles and following his Quirk’s exuberant flight with her gaze.
“Not quite,” he corrects. “Dark Shadow has the form of a bird, but it is more akin to a spectre of the night—a shadow, hence its name.”
“‘Course I’m a bird, dummy!” his infuriating Quirk crows in the middle of a series of barrel rolls. “Why else can I fly?”
That logic seems to appease both itself and the child, whose idolization of Dark Shadow is highly worrying to Fumikage, almost overpowering his relief at the absence of her fear. He observes her reactions closely, just to make sure. Her face is beaming, relaxed and open in a way that had been rarely seen just a few weeks ago.
“Okay, Fumi.” Dark Shadow undergoes one of its characteristically abrupt changes of whim and stops mid-air. “I’m hungry! You’re hungry too, so let’s go already!”
His stomach grumbles in the affirmative, and he gives it a look of disapproval for betraying him. The small child, of course, follows him on his heels into the kitchen. She is obviously waiting for him to do something; but what exactly, he has no clue. He opens the refrigerator, and she visibly perks up. He removes an apple. She glues herself to his side as he moves from the refrigerator to the sink to wash the skin.
“Do you need any help?” he begrudgingly asks, but she shakes her head.
That doesn’t stop the puppy eyes from returning as he picks up the knife to slice the apple into pieces.
Fumikage opts to ignore them in favor of focusing all his attention on making the slices of equal size and shape. Then, after thinking for a moment, he lifts the knife again to the edge of one slice. A few quick, steady strokes, and the silhouette of a bunny appears. He makes quick work of the other slices and arranges them on a plate—the nice one, probably brought by Yaoyorozu from home, which he makes a mental note to return in good shape after.
He carries the platter carefully from the kitchen counter to the living room and sets it down on the floor in front of the sofa. Then, deliberately not looking at the small child still trailing behind him, he sits cross-legged on the floor.
After a moment’s pause, he senses her settle criss-cross on the floor as well, a little distance away from him.
Fumikage brings an apple bunny to his mouth. Crunches. The sharp, sweet flavor bursts in his mouth. Apples have always been his favorite, and these are the good quality kind, crisp and bursting with juice. He makes another note to thank Yaoyorozu doubly the next time he sees her.
“Mmm,” he says aloud, as casually as he can. His acting probably isn’t very good, but he can sense the child hanging onto his every word. “These apple bunnies are delicious. Too bad I’m already so full; I can’t possibly finish them all.”
Dark Shadow peers inquisitively at him. He shuts his eyes and refuses to look back.
“If only,” he continues, “I had someone to help me. Finish these apple bunnies. That are so yummy and delicious. I would hate,” he raises his voice slightly, when she doesn’t seem to take the hint, “for these to go to waste.”
“Ah…” Dark Shadow nods solemnly, having caught onto the act. “You’re right, Fumi. But who can possibly help you eat them?”
Fumikage peeks through a slitted eyelid. The small child is staring hungrily at the almost-untouched plate, practically salivating with a longing expression. He sighs. It seems that a more direct approach is required.
“Eri.” Her head snaps up. “Will you please help me finish these apple bunnies?”
“Are you sure?” Her sweet voice is much too timid and small for his liking.
He nudges the plate over. “Yes, I’m sure. Please, help me. It’s the heroic thing to do.”
A note of wonder enters her wide eyes. “... Heroic?”
“Of course!” Dark Shadow butts in. “So hero-like! Saving the world from food waste!”
She swallows, leaning in. Her body is almost vibrating with nervous energy.
Fumikage gulps down his own anxiety and, taking one apple bunny, holds it out for her to take directly. She stares at it for another agonizing second. Then, she reaches out. Her small, warm fingers brush Fumikage’s before wrapping around the slice, which looks comically large in her grasp.
The apple bunny quickly meets its demise with a crunch. “Thank you!” the small child blurts with glowing cheeks, wiping the juice from her chin with her sleeve.
“Hey, you have to help with the rest of these, too,” he reminds her. Happily, she complies.
Later, when Aizawa comes to collect his ward, he is faced with the sight of Eri dozing on the couch, pillowed comfortably on Dark Shadow—who is tenuously attached by a long, nebulous strand to its owner, still scrubbing half a dozen dishes in the kitchen.