Ghost - an MHA fanfiction

The most unproductive secretary in the world

Almost forty-five minutes later, Red Riot's very expensive, very new car pulls up outside Battle Fist's hero agency. I snuggle down into the plush leather seats, wishing I didn't have to leave the deceptively warm interior of the car. I still have his jacket wrapped around me, and god damn it I've gotten way too comfortable sitting in the passenger seat with the seat warmers on high and the heater blowing directly into my face.

My driver gives me a lopsided grin when he sees me looking so pathetic. "Come on, it's not that hard, is it? I'm sure it will be warmer inside."

I shake my head and draw the corners of his jacket up to my chin. I must look like some maniacal fusion between an adult and a child - like those fourteen-year-old girls that scroll through pictures of hot anime characters and pretend to be k-pop idols.

Reluctantly, I shrug off the jacket and begin to get out of the car, but Red Riot throws the thing straight back at me. "Just keep it."

I stare down at the soft fabric, realising that it's probably the most expensive piece of clothing I've ever worn since I moved out of my parents' house three years ago. It must look so wrong on my body. I'm so short - so skinny and curveless. I don't have the money to buy extra exercise clothes or fix my eating habits. I don't have cash to buy weights or gym memberships, and certainly not expensive jackets like this one.

"Thanks," I tell him, and I hope he realises I mean it.

He smiles. "I'll see you at my next appointment?"

A minute later, the car starts again, and I am left on the frosty, snow-dusted sidewalk, still clinging onto the million-dollar lump of fabric in my hands.

The crystalline glass doors to the agency slide open, and the chilled air from outside clashes with the thick warm air inside. I step through the threshold, and it is like passing between two different worlds. Goosebumps rise on my arms as warmth floods me. The heaters must be cranking in here.

In the staff room behind the front desk, I rummage through my locker until I find the one decent outfit I owned - one my work bought for me when I started - and fold it safely under my arm. It's far from gorgeous, but at least it makes me look good... sort of. A ruffled white blouse and a charcoal grey skirt with a thin ribbon that is clasped under my collar by some kind of fake glass ruby. It might even make me look a little wealthy. I also fish out a couple of hair pins before shutting the dented metal door.

The bathroom is quiet, and I change quickly, bundling up my other clothes - apart from Red Riot's jacket - in a messy heap. I always keep my horrid stilettos under the front desk so that I don't have to walk anywhere in them, but rather sit and let the pointed heels dig agonisingly into the soft skin on the back of my ankle.

Jobs at hero agencies are advertised to the world as being goldmines, but a simple secretary is about as overlooked as a bystander most days. I'm not saying Battle Fist herself is neglecting her staff. In fact, she's about the kindest person here. But it's not her job to dish out payment, and her assistant is a right pain in the ass.

I chuck my dirty clothing to the back of my locker and hang the jacket on the brass coat hooks by the door.

The lobby is eerily quiet as always. The only people that ever come in here are the ones that have already booked appointments. Most of my time is spent sorting through files and playing whatever pointless games I can find online. It is like ragnarok when someone makes a phone call - which only happens about twice a week.

All in all, I shouldn't be paid anything at all, because I'm probably the most unproductive secretary on the planet.

My footsteps are light, but echo through the cavernous space, bouncing off the black-and-white chequered floor and the starchy white walls that somehow always smell like mint mouthwash and PVA glue. This whole place smells like some kind of strange cleaning product, and it makes my nose stuffy. I've only ever been upstairs once, and the only impression I got was that I wish the lobby was as warm and cosy as the boss's office.