𝐀𝐫𝐜 𝐈 | bnha

waltz

She woke up alone.

The room smelled like alcohol. Her mind was strangely quiet. It meandered slowly, like the dust falling in the sun rays slanting through the window.

The sounds from the outside the room were muffled.

(Y/n) sat up, her bones aching. She could hear faint music from somewhere, waltzing through the cracks in the door like a thousand trembling threads. She swung her feet to the side, testing her weight. Her legs trembled, but didn't give. She walked to the door.

Pushing the curtain over the door's small window out of the way, she glanced out the door.

This wasn't a hospital.

She stared out the window, spotting someone approaching. (Y/n) stepped away from the door, hiding along the wall so that she'd be covered by the opening door.

The door opened with a click. The figure froze, spotting the empty bed. (Y/n) pushed the door shut. "Where am I?" Her voice was scratchy, her throat dry.

The figure whirled around. "You are in a private hospital," he responded cautiously.

"Where is everyone else?"

"You had to be separated from everyone else. Security reasons." She tilted her head.

"Fair enough. Am I well enough to be discharged?"

He hesitated. Something here was very wrong. "Where's my father? I want to talk to him." Another pause.

"I can bring you to him, but I'm afraid that talking is out of the question." Her stomach clenched.

"What do you mean?"

"He was put into a medically-induced coma." She flinched.

"I want to see him."

Her father looked so small.

She laced her hand with his, squeezing it gently.

"Where are we?" The man behind her almost missed the question.

"Like I said, in a priv-"

"No, we aren't."

She looked at the man, with deep dark circles and a constant frown. "This is a clinic run by the Hero Commission."

She turned back to her father. (Y/n) had heard him mention the Hero Commission once or twice, always with a dark look, a frown.

She could still hear the music. The man had left her a few hours ago, leaving the door ajar. The music came in, dancing through the open door, bounding off the the tile floor. (Y/n) let's go of her father's hand and follows the music.

Its louder several empty hallways down. She notices there are no windows here, the only light coming from the florescent panels overhead.

The tiles are cream, little rectangles of blue throughout, like the yellow on a road.

She pauses at a doorway. An old cassette player is connected to a speaker, the music crackling.

(Y/n) steps into the room, hand grazing the buttons on the player.

Someone speaks from the doorway, a warm grin practically oozing from their voice.

"Fancy seeing you again."

(she has heard some say they are the children of witches that they couldn't burn, of wise women they couldn't stone.

she finds it lovely that children are born with such fire in their bones.

she cannot claim that heritage. instead, she is the child of angels and demons overthrown.

to her, he seems like an angel with russet wings, with sorcery in his eyes.)

His grin is as sharp as his gaze.

"Hi again," is all she can say. The sharpness doesn't leave his face.

"Whatcha doing in my room?"

oops, she almost says.
"I heard music." She wishes she could give longer answers, but the medicine they gave her while she slept still tugged at her brain, weighing it down like lead. "We met before, on the train," her mind stutters with her voice. "I have- I have your autograph." His expression softens.
"You okay?"
She nods slowly, fearing moving too fast would make her dizzy.

"Why are you here?"

"I heard mu-"

"No," he cuts her off. "Why are ya here?" He steps into the room and makes his way to the cassette player. (Y/n) moves away before responding.

"My dad and I got hurt. They took us here." She sat on the floor by the door, leaning against the doorframe.

"Why here? Why not a hospital?" He presses the pause and the music halts in the middle of a note.

"Because we could easily kill someone by accident." His glances at her, eyes wide.

"How easily?" He feels only a little guilty that he's pressing so hard. He can tell that she isn't completely there yet, with the way her heart was slow and her pupils didn't adjust as quickly as they should. She meets his gaze and something clears a little.

She doesn't respond.

"Kid?" He prompts.

"Last time I lost control of my quirk, I ate half of someone's arm." Her voice is sharp.

The two stare at one another, eyes narrowed.

Approaching footsteps break the tension. (Y/n) glances out the door; it was the same man from before. "Do you never leave here?" He raises his eyebrows at her.

"I see the two of you have met."

The two stare at him. "Oh good, now there are two people that do that. Lucky me." Rage surged up in (Y/n) like a tidal wave, crashing over any reasoning and self-preservation. She was damned tired of people acting better than her, being sly and mysterious around her.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Hawks let out a small laugh.

The man glares at her. "Watch your language, child."

"Suck my massive, twelve-inch di-"

"The two of you, come with me."

Hawks lost it, doubling over and laughing over how hilarious it was to see a kid cuss out a government official.