"Don't let me go."
"Don't worry, I won't ever let you go. I promise."
Ikari's scar is the first thing that people notice. And it drives them away, since it is the symbol of her father, one of the most feared villains of all time... before he died.
...
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POV— Hebinoya Ikari
Bus Ride
Don't let me go.
When I was seven, I broke my ankle in the park.
I stayed there for hours, too afraid to go home,
too hurt to move, and too stubborn to ask for help.
Shojiro showed up with a bruise on his cheek and carried me home.
He didn't say a word.
Don't let me go.
"Everyone, listen up." Aizawa's voice is low and tired, the bags under his eyes darker than usual. The bus quiets down, jolting as it hits a speed bump. Aizawa takes attendance, and when he is done, he says, "Here's our agenda today. The training camp is a two days' trip away from here. We'll be driving six hours the first day, stopping at a hotel, and then driving seven the next. Any questions?"
A few questions from Aoyama and Jirou about snacks, and the cheery atmosphere returns.
I shift beside Shoto, nostalgically recalling the last time we had been in a bus. It had ended in an unfortunate disaster with villains attacking our class.
(Ooh Ikari you're gonna be in for a big surprise)
"Ikari."
"Yes?" I turn to Shoto, who is rummaging in his bag for something. He takes out a box of chocolates, hands it to me, then another bag of chips. I purse my lips.
"Shoto, you shouldn't spoil me," I say with a half sigh, as he takes out yet another bottle of green tea.
"But I like to. So take it." He shoves all of the food items into my lap, and returns to searching in his seemingly infinite bag.
"Nope, this isn't fair," I mutter. "I won't stand for such inequality." I look through my bag as well, shoving through my computer, camera, and an extra set of shoes until I find my phone as well.
Looking through the town that we'll be staying at, I find a summer festival only a few minutes' walk away from our hotel. It is my turn to shove my gift in his face.
"You want to go?" I question.
Shoto squints at the photos, gently taking my phone into his hands. A childlike excitement glimmers in his eyes as he scrolls through more photos.
"Yes. I'd like to," he says, "very much."
Don't let me go.
I am in an empty room, the walls white and bare. My head is muddled and murky and I try to shake off the nausea, closing my eyes.
When I open them again, Shojiro is in front of me. His steely eyes glare into mine, no more than a few paces away from me. Every cell in me wants to sprint into his arms, but I've learned my lesson. I stay stock still in the room, wishing him away, pretending that his overpowering presence isn't there.
