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The day that Kirishima Eijirou lost his mind started out normal.
The morning is this beautiful mix of pinks and yellows. Soft and nearly wooly like clouds cascade around it, the clouds are shaped in ways that, when he was young, Eijirou would wake his moms up for. He would rattle at one of their thighs, standing on his top toes—usually, it would be his mama, who would scrunch her nose and rub her eyes, a disgruntled look only subtly melting into her features before she blinked opened her eyes. She’d stretch and scoop Eijirou into her arms, kissing his freckles cheeks and rubbing messy black hair till it frizzed. Eijirou would beam and lean in closer before remembering why he woke her up so early.
“Mama, the clouds!” He’d squeak, a sharp grin unveiling as he bursted with energy only a five year old could posses at nearly 4am on a Monday. His mama would nod—she never was much of a talker, keeping her lips sewn shut but her hands were calloused with the love she built for her family. Eijirou didn’t need words, not when his mama hoisted him onto her hip and carefully walked outside the doors of their apartment complex. She would be barefoot, feet softly scraping against the cheap concrete that made up the Kirishima Households apartment building. She carefully left Eijirou sit on the balcony, her arms protectively wrapped at his waist to keep him from stumbling over. Ejirou would point at the clouds and point out what they looked like, and she’d tiredly nod along with the precision of a black-footed cat. Later, his other mom—Ma—would wake up, her black hair in a tight bun and she’d coo along with Eijirou, helping him name clouds.
“Rock.” Eijirou murmured at the memory, a smile on his face as he looked at the sky and then back at the clock. Nearly 4am in the morning like when he was five and had energy practically oozing out his dimples. Eijirou woke up in the dorms like he had for the past three years. He is eighteen. He is a third year at U.A, a prestigious school mostly for those wanting to be quirks. When he graduates, Kirishima Eijirou will become Red Riot—a pro-hero. It makes him want to explode. Knowing he had made his dream come true—so close he could feel it like honey on his tongue, oozing and burning into his gums. Years ago, he had been an anxious middle-schooler—whose voice spoke so loudly but he kept his eyes trained on the school floor, brown shows carefully stepping in place and precision.
The same dreams, the same anxieties. The same body—but not the same want to stand back. Not the same thought his quirk was useless. It had been, once—but only when he believed it to be. Only when he blossomed like a rose and put his quirk to use did it finally become something worth while. Kirishima Eijirou finally became worth while, even when some times, those same worries bit and spat at his gut like they did years ago. But now? Now he had the lack of control. Now he let his fears simmer in his belly but let his feet jump forward, let his arms brace and harden, taking hits for all he could think of. To little babies to old men with greying hairs and wrinkles carved into their face. He took those hits, flinching and wincing, but not stepping back.
He went to his bathroom, his hair freshly dyed red. He took a look at it, pursing out his lips as he tried to figure out what to do with. In first year, he gelled it high and spiked, like a loud, bursting fire. At the time, he had been trying to make up and hide the cowardice that laid deeply into his. Had been trying to hide the cringey, emo middle schooler he once was. Now? Eijirou barely knew was to do with it. It was long and somewhat messy, cusping the sides of his face like warm hands. He didn’t bite his lip—Gods, no, not with his teeth! He grabbed a hair tie, stretched it between two fingers and grabbed a chunk of hair. He tied it up, some of his red locks resting normally on his shoulders and back, but some of it rested in a spikey ponytail.
“Lookin’ manly~” he praised himself, flexing his muscles in the mirror before slipping on a simple tank top and sweatpants. No, he wasn’t wearing this to school—school hadn’t even started yet! But, he did need to start building up stamina more than he already had. What better way than a morning run before even the birds began to chirp? He was quiet as he exited the dorms, thankful they weren’t under the same strict securities as they once were in first year.
The run was simple. He would only run for an hour, never far from U.A. He’d circle back, shower, and move on with his day. Sometimes he’d be joined by Bakugo or Midoriya, sometimes by both. He enjoyed those days most—but unfortunately, both were still in a deep slumber. He hopes—he hopes neither stopped breathing in their sleep, an anxiety that laid forever and permanently stamped into his mind since first year. It’ll never stop nagging at his brain, if he’s honest. He doesn’t stop to think about it, instead starting a timer and beginning to run. He keeps his pace slow at first. He’s able to enjoy the morning, looking at the pinks and yellow sky, nostalgic like wounds.
It was supposed to be a normal morning, and maybe in another universe, it was. In another universe, Kirishima Eijirou doesn’t wake up at nearly 4AM and stays in the dorms. In another universe, Kirishima Eijirou is joined by Bakugo or Midoriya on the run. In another universe, Kirishima Eijirou keeps his mind.
This is not that universe.
Because this morning, Kirishima Eijirou wakes up at nearly 4AM. He doesn’t stay in the dorms. He is not joined by Midoriya or Bakugo. Kirishima Eijirou will cling to his mind for only an hour more.
Kirishima Eijirou is returning back to U.A, having finished another lap. Sweat clings to his forehead and dribbles downs his face. It has nearly been an hour, and he’s starting to crave the greediness that is a cold shower. He hears it, a high pitched cry. A little girl, tears wet in her curdled scream. Kirishima Eijirou is no longer stoned by fear, he turned around like it was his duty—and maybe it was. He ran to where he heard the scream, calling out loudly, voice echoing over the day. Maybe, if he had listened closer, he would’ve realized even the birds stop chirping and the clouds stopped their wispy waves and movements. But Kirishima Eijirou didn’t listen to anything else but his instincts and the need to find the little girl.
“WHERE ARE YOU! I HEARD YOU!”
She cries louder, Kirishima’s shoes skidded across the pavement of the sidewalk, and found his answer. A little girl is being dangled from her wrist, sickeningly stiff. Her eyes are wide opening and trembled, large, wet tears streaming down her face. She’s being held by a man—who clearly seems to have his quirk activated. His head turns to face Kirishima. He’s wearing thick black glasses and a surgical mask—he looks..all too familiar to a surgeon, actually. Kirishima braced himself, activating his quirk and baring his sharp teeth like an angry mutt. The doctor-surgeon-man whatever doesn’t seem to fight much, dropping the girl. She cries out, but can’t move. Is it his quirk? Either way, his instinct is to rush forward, knock him out the way. Reach the girl.
If Kirishima Eijirou was still that anxious middle schooler, maybe, he wouldn’t have lost his mind. Maybe he would’ve realized the silence over the world. Maybe he would’ve noticed that the little girl had wrinkles.
And little girls?
They don’t have wrinkles.
Kirishima Eijiro is not that anxious middle schooler though. He doesn’t notice the grieving state the world has already entered, the way the birds heads hang low. The way the clouds begin covering up the pink and yellow. The clouds that once, Eijirou had given shapes and a story while sitting on the balcony and his mama holding his waist protectively. At least the clouds give the sky the benefit of not watching
He rushes forward, quirk activated. He reaches for the little girl, and only too late, does he see those wrinkles. The look of betrayal isn’t even able to rest on his face as a gloved hand only lightly tapped at his spine. The freezing feeling that washes over Kirishima Eijirous body is unheard of—and he’s been hit by Todorokis quirk before. His spine locks up and it forces his legs to still as well. His quirk is disabled quicker than he can count, skib softening back up again. Kirishima Ejirou falls to his knees and then to his stomach, head banging on the dirty concrete of a discarded alleyway. He can’t even move his lips, but his eyes are wide as he glanced backwards.
The ‘little girl’ stand up, resting her hands on her hips. Her face shifts, eyes shrinking and legs growing. It’s only now does Kirishima realize her quirk—shape shifting. No longer is she small and frail—she’s broad and big, hair frizzy and slightly grey. The doctor-surgeon man just nodded at her before placing his hands on Kirishimas head. Kirishima can’t even kick his legs as his vision starts to lock onto one wall and black spots bloom over his vision. His body slumps easily, face gently hitting back onto the dirty concrete.
In the U.A dorms, Bakugo and Midoriya wake up unaware. They wake up unconcerned and already knowing Kirishima Ejirous routine. They will start getting worried when he never comes through the dorms entrance. They will start getting worried when the shower never starts. They will start getting worried when they check his room to see if maybe he had slept in. They will start getting worried when they see the bed empty, his phone dead on the drawer beside his bed. In the U.A Dorms, they will wake up everyone else. Aizawa will check back the cameras, and he will see Kirishima left at the time he always does, but he never returns. He is wearing a smile just as he exits the dorms to never be seen again.
In the Kirishima Household, a woman who nearly never speaks will be woken up. She will carefully rise, and see the caller is her son’s school. She will answer it, and she will speak so worriedly her black-haired wife rises up, wide eyed and concerned. The quiet woman will quickly rise to her feet, barefoot as she steps out onto the cheap concrete that makes up their apartement complex, and the black haired woman will chase after her carrying the quiet woman’s shoes. They will meet with U.As principles, and they will speak with anyone who could know.
Kirishima Ejirou woke up in a cold and desolate room. He is paralyzed, strapped to a bed by quirk-cancelling cuffs. His eyes just looked around, brows furrowed. Kirishima Ejirou could do nothing as the surgeon-doctor carefully enters the room. Kirishima Ejirou could do nothing as he opened a folder—all of Ejirous important documents. How had he gotten those? Kirishima doesn’t know. The surgeon clicks his tongue and speaks candidly, pulling down his clinical teal mask.
“I wonder if your quirk can protect your mind just as much as it does your body.”
He murmured, nearly sounding like an afterthought. But Kirishimas eyes widened and he wishes he could speak. The ‘surgeon’ takes off the cuffs, but Kirishimas still can’t move. The surgeon rests his hands on Kirishimas wrists, squeezing them and using his fingers to rub at the blue veins. Kirishima wants to flinch, but his body is kept in place. The mama hands traveled up to his face, opening Kirishimas mouth and prodding at his teeth. He hears him whispering something about possibly filing them down, and Kirishimas mind screams in protest. Kirishima doesn’t realize how much he’s rather had flat teeth than a mind no longer his.
It’s two days of poking and prodding, of figuring out Kirishima. Two days of a paralyzing quirk—Kirishima has realized now, the man’s quirk leaves him paralyzed for up to six hours and he can only use it twice. The hours Kirishima isn’t paralyzed, he’s locked down by the quirk-canceling cuffs. Kirishimas hair is cut short like it once was in middle school for ‘easier research’. Kirishima isn’t exaggerating when he sees the man use his old photo from Middle School as reference—it makes a part of Kirishima freeze up harder than the man’s quirk could ever. How long has he been watching, how carefully? He wants to shudder, but his voice can’t even bubble up. His body’s reflexes are reduced to absolutely nothing and it hurts.
The third day is different. The third day, Kirishima Ejirou will no longer have a mind of his own. He will be trapped inside the solid hell that is knowing everything but perceiving nothing.
The man enters with a sharp metal object. He is wearing his gloves and masks, and he paralyzed Kirishima again. The quirk canceling cuffs are left off, and somehow, only now do the words the man first spoke to him rise to his mind, viciously so. If Kirishimas eyes could widen, if his mouth could open—if his brows could furrow? It would be done. He would be biting and scratching, quirk activated. Why can’t he activate his quirk?! It’s not useless. He doesn’t believe it is. Why is it useless? WHY IS IT-
For the first time in three days, Kirishima is able to scream. You’d be able to as well if someone if a sharp object was shoved up your brain, though, wouldn’t you?
Kirishima Ejirou can’t tell you what happened after that. He remembers feeling trapped in something that was once his. He remembers feeling like a bird in a golden, gilded cage. He remembers bleeding but not able to register much more. One day (night? Kirishima no longer knows.) he doesn’t wake up in a cold room. He wakes up in a hospital bed. A real one. He hears the quiet beeps of a monitor. Red eyes open, duller than they ever once worse. Even a corpse had more to them—but really, Kirishima Ejirou was a walking corpse. He glanced to his side and saw a blond man with a scar over his face, beside him, a green haired man rests his head in the others shoulder. Bakugo Katsuki and Izuku Midoriya. The names ring hard in his mind, and he sees the blurry memories of them. Of holding hands. Of running. Of training.
What was he once training for? Kirishima can’t remember, scarily enough. His mind has blank spots—too many of them. Midoriya glanced over and something lit up in his eyes. He springs up, waking up Bakugo who is inkt annoyed for a minute before landing on Kirishima. Midoriya cupped Kirishimas cheeks, and Kirishima knows he should flinch. But he can’t. His body doesn’t catch up, but Midoriya doesn’t seem to care.
“Oh my god, Kirishima. You’re okay, you’re..okay..?”
Midoriyas voice of relief strays far as he continues speaking. There’s a slight wager in it. Bakugo gets up too, concern flickering in red eyes. “Fucks wrong with him?” He says, gruffly, and Kirishima wonders if it’s concern in his voice. Kirishima is blinked faced, eyes wide and mouth in something akin to a frown. His brows aren’t furrowed, he just looks..blank. Finally, Kirishimas body catches up far too late and he flinched in Midoriyas hands. There are three boys in this room. Only two of them look at each other, worry and concern clinging to their features.
“Lobotomy.”
The word is foreign at first. The doctor says it a lot.—Kirishima hates the doctor, hates being left alone with him. He knows why, he realizes. The man with a surgical mask was no doctor, but he still wore the outfit of one. Soon, Kirishima begins to understand why his moms cry, why his friends treat him more gently. Why he can’t react. In a world full of quirks, they can find someone to help—but Kirishima learns he’s not the only victim of the surgeon masked man. He has that part of him to shake his head when offered to be fixed first, his moms looked traumtized at the fact he is still him and not a mindless doll.
A year later, Eijirous hair has began to grow. His hair is more black than red. He’s not alone—he had graduated with his class. Not as a pro-hero, except nobody says that. Nobody says he isn’t a hero, but he doesn’t do what Katsuki does. Speaking of them..
His head rests on Izuku shoulder. Kirishimas face is still blank, the glow never quite returning with the account his brain was tampered with. They are lying on the couch, Izuku is playing with Eijirou’s hair. Izuku wants to dye it, but is too scared to hurt Eijirou. They..Izuku and Katsuki..talk about it a lot. Eijirou listens, and they know he does. They know he can’t respond. How they began dating? Ejirous not sure, his memory is bad nowadays. They’ll remind him, he knows. They remind him if he looks confused, and he can see the hurt behind his eyes. They aren’t hurt from him, but it still makes something simmer in Kirishima that he can’t show.
“Katsukis getting home soon.” Izuku murmured, voice soft and a reminder. Ejirous nods, staring forward at the door. He doesn’t expect a response from Ejirou, he never does. Izuku is listening for the TV, but somehow, Eijirou still feels his gaze on Eijirou. It doesn’t make him feel bad. He sees the way his eyes brighten even though there’s a lingering sadness at what could’ve been if it never happened. The way his eyes dance on Ejirous freckles, on his eyes which are so, so empty but god, he still thinks are gorgeous.
Eijirou manages to stop looking at the door and looks back at Izuku. He struggles for a moment to remember what to do. It’s never him who initiates a kiss, but he wants to. His eyes look at Izukus lips, brows furrowing just a little bit in confuson. Izuku blinks, before oh’ing. “You want me to kiss you?” Izuku murmured, and Eijirou is quiet. He always is, but it’s different. He doesn’t move for a minute and then shakes his head. Izuku looks confused before his cheeks flush. “You want to kiss me?” He repeats.
Ejirou nods. Izukus nods back, and he is patient as Eijirou shakily moved his hands up. He cusped Izukus cheeks and leans forward. He stops just before he does it, hands shaking. He forgot. Izuku doesn’t close the space and just whispered, careful and full of so much love and warmth. “Your lips on mine.” He says quietly, and Eijirou leaned forward. Soft lips he’s forgotten and even reminded of so many times. The kiss, blossoming and all. Eijirou feels warmth to his cheeks, and he is glad that he is still human despite missing bits and pieces.
Katsukis opens the door and sees the scene, he doesn’t say anything it as he closes the door and kicks off his shoes quietly. He puts his keys up, and climbed onto the couch beside his two boyfriends. The couch dips with the weight of three grown men. Eijirou forgets how to let go of a kiss, but Izuku does it for him. They are both a messed of flushed cheeks, even if Izuku is smiling big and tears perk at his eyes and Kirishima is blank, cheeks still warm. Katsuki peeked over and then grinned, voice rhough and full of love. “What’d I miss?”
“Ei kissed me.” Izuku nearly squeaked, and Katsuki tilted his head. “You kissed-“ “no, Ei kissed me.” Izuku interrupts, clear with his clarification. Katsuki is quiet for a moment as if processing this development. Katsuki grabs Eijirous wrist, more careful than his calloused hands ever gave way too—and Eijirou knows it’s okay for him to flinch, even if delayed. Katsukis eyes shimmer with something close to relief and amazement. “Gimmie one too.” He pouts, gruff. Izuku makes a loud mark of laughter, but it doesn’t stand for long as Ejirou leaned forward, lips laying on Katsukis own.
The night is filled with sweet kisses and the laughter of two grown men. Eijirou finds himself able to pushed his fingers to his mouth. He forces his blank lips to make a smile and he sees something ripple across his boyfriend’s face.
He is still him, not a doll.
When the phone-call comes that Eijirou will finally get his mind back, it’s a week later, and they are already planning to buy red hair dye as soon as he can handle the fumes.
Clouds dance in the sky, pink and yellow swirling in nostalgia. Memories cling to the alleyway that’s been cleaned, shut off, and replaced by a small, discreet building.
He can’t smile, not like he once did. But he uses his fingers to push his lips into a forced one, and that’s okay until he can one day, finally blossom again. Finally be a pro-hero, finally catch up—
Finally be Kirishima Eijirou.