Boku No Hero Academia One Shots [Book 2]

Tamaki Amajiki

Trigger Warning: Body Dysmorphic Disorder.

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The fallacious knowledge that deformities, whether the product of faithful perception or mere imagination, are subject to the scrutiny of all mankind, or that such subsequent opinions deserve to be heeded, caused you a distress so terribly undue. The pedestal upon which societal expectation bloomed was a far cry from reality. It toiled in fantasy, and lay far beyond the reach of man.

The spring of hope couldn't flow eternal, and eventually, surrender would become your only option. And yet, you refused it. You refused to relax into your assumed nature. You refused the pity gifts of life, and every semblance of joy that was ever ripped from you. Although grief was all that you deserved, you couldn't let it decide your path. You would bear the mantle of a hero, to fight against injustice, and to protect from intolerance. It was an obligation, a test of your morals. You wouldn't fail, no matter the cost. You would win, just to spite every waking nightmare. Your demons rose above you, guided by their rancour. But aside from them, you were alone. Alone and afraid, both mysterious and monstrous.

Tamaki watched as you descended into the rubble of a once-proud building, with baited breath and a curiosity untold. He had played witness to your quirk on many occasions, and yet its enchantment still held him as tightly as ever. It wasn't your intention. It wasn't a game, yet Tamaki had managed to lose, regardless. He often wondered if you were aware of him, considering your apparent dismissal. You had never acknowledged him, despite having spent equal time training under the same pro hero. You were the property of different schools and social classes, and while your juries would ultimately draw the same verdicts, you were two very different people. He didn't presume you shy, only...detached, be it from conversation or reality. His ears strained for your song, but it was silent. It was always silent.

You occupied disparate territories, different worlds - one marred by anxiety, the other by society. Tamaki knew nothing of your origins, although he wished to. But to reveal it, to reveal all that you were...

No, you couldn't. The mask you wore, the one you swore to wear until the day the earth reclaimed your body...it granted asylum to every wayward feature, every pore and blemish you wished to be free of. Your quirk honoured, or perhaps mocked these flaws. There was no reason for Tamaki, or indeed anyone, to know that. Your quirk was the ability to manifest faces on any part of your body, be they of opponents or allies. They would be perfect replicas, no feature out of place. Their voices would match their owners'. If your allies saw a face they couldn't recognise, they would assume it to be yours. But no-one had seen your face, and it had been years since you last held vigil by the mirror, weeping and weeping, until you could no more. Your heart had begged for mercy, but your mind had a wicked agenda.

It set the course, and there would be no diversion.

The camouflage of equanimity was wonderful, and yet...so isolating. When people decided, at their own discretion, that you were okay, that you didn't suffer through unbearable pain day in and day out...then they stopped caring, they dropped the act, their social conditioning. If the body was okay, then what use had the mind for comfort?

Tamaki wasn't so foul, but you caught his looks. The spirit of enquiry haunted you. You felt...sympathy? Confusion? Shame? His eyes were intense. His gaze burned. One word from your lips and he would avert it. You knew that. You knew of his nature - shy, unsure, even scared at times. But...the thought of him bearing such embarrassment...somehow, that was too much. You did want to speak up, to say something, even something small. But you would wait, bide your time, phrase and rephrase everything in your head, and probably talk yourself out of it altogether.