|| Sunlight || k. bakugou x oc || mha x oc ||

• Chapter Twenty-Eight •

Kai POV

His footsteps are so unbearably harsh as he walks away from me. The silence between us is cataclysmically loud. Something in me aches to call after him, to say his name. I swallow in an attempt to remove the lump from my throat.

I shouldn't care.

I don't...I don't care.

I can't.

"Let's go home, Sora." I mumble.

For the first time ever, my well-trained pup tugs against his harness and whimpers. I clench my jaw, "Sora. Let's go."

I start walking and Sora ceases his resistance. For the first time in a long time, Sora and I walk home alone.

* * *

It's a curious thing, feeling nothing.

My apartment feels empty. Every sound echoes in the blank space. Sora lays whimpering by the door.

The food that Bakugou made rots in my fridge, causing an awful stench.

The fan I keep in the corner of my room produces a low whir that suffocates my thoughts.

But I can't bring myself to care.

I woke up this morning at the same time I always do.

I didn't break my alarm clock this time.

I ate my breakfast, threw it back up, and got dressed.

I think my body aches from yesterday.

I drop my coffee and cut my hand on the broken porcelain.

The blood drips and splatters emptily on the kitchen tile, echoing against the whir of my fan. It's sticky and hot against my fingers.

Today is Saturday.

I guess I'm supposed to go to the dance studio.

Nishimura POV

Today is Saturday.

It's an exciting day at the studio. All the pairs in the workshop get to polish their routines and we get to see the finished product of all their hard work.

And yet, while all the pairs buzz around in excitement before we finish the class with a full run-through, I struggle to quell my disappointment.

I lean over to whisper to my partner, "Have you seen Bakugou or Himiko?"

"No sign of either of them." Mako shrugs, "I suppose we shouldn't be surprised, their school has a big day coming up."

"I suppose so."

But neither of them seem like the type to not follow through on something.

Especially something they've dedicated so much time to.

* * *

The class concludes and I give my students congratulations.

Mako and I stand at the door handing out thank you notes and small pins from our independent dance company to the students as they leave. After the last student exits, I leave Mako to clean while I fill our water bottles.

At this time of day, the studio is quieter.

There are no other classes and most of the studios are empty. But as I get to the end of the hall, I hear music drifting from a studio.

As I get closer, I notice a figure moving within a darkened studio. The lights are out inside, but the figure is dimly illuminated by the window.

Miss Himiko.

She's dressed differently than she would in classes. She doesn't wear the baggy sweats and oversized t-shirts I'd grown accustomed to seeing her in originally. She wears a sports bra and black shorts. But the change in attire is not what catches my attention.

"Nishi? Are you okay?" Mako walks towards me, shouldering both of our bags.

"Mako—Himiko—she—" I feel mortified, my stomach turning into a roiling mess. My partner appears at my side and there's a sharp intake of breath as he sees what I see.

"Her back." He mumbles.

I can only nod.

Himiko dances more erratically, more agitated than I'm used to. But the thing that causes me and my partner to stop in our tracks is the spanning mess along her back. Scars and bruises create an intricately sickening map across her back and shoulders. Some appear to be years old.

The sight is gruesome.

She's just a kid.

"I feel sick." Mako murmurs.

"That can't be from UA, right?" We both watch her.

Her dance style is different, and when her face comes into the right light, there's a frightening emptiness to her gaze. The lively fluidity that makes her dancing so delightful to watch isn't there. A sheen of sweat covers her entire body, and blood seeps through a poorly-wrapped bandage on her hand.

I shake my head, "We can't leave without making sure she's safe."

The moment I step inside the studio, I'm hit with an overwhelming wave of suffocating energy. I don't know why or how, but I feel like I can barely breathe. The studio is undoubtedly several degrees hotter than average.

I choke on the air, which feels heavy, "Miss Himiko."

The girl is unresponsive. Dancing around the room, her breath coming in labored huffs.

I step forward and turn off the music, "MISS HIMIKO!" She spins to a stop, rattling out a slower exhale. The scars along her back stretch with each breath.

"Miss Nishimura." She blinks, some of the life returning to her eyes, "I apologize. I didn't think you'd notice me here."

"You weren't in class today. Mako and I were worried." I carefully walk over and hand her the water bottle that sits next to her bag.

She sighs, "My apologies. Bakugou and I are..." Her lips part, as if she wants to say something, but close to hold it back in. Himiko clears her throat, "We are simply stressed for the Sports' Festival. He felt that he needed to train today."

Bullshit.

"Mako and I will be cheering you both on."

"Thank you." She bows formally, "Speaking of training, I must leave. Now isn't the time for resting." The emptiness returns to her expression, "Have a nice day, Miss Nishimura."

The girl gathers up her things, pulling on her shoes.

"Himiko, wait!"

She turns around and I have to fight the overwhelming urge to flinch away from her hardened expression.

I swallow, "Will you reach out to me if you ever need anything? You have my email and our studio phone number."

Her eyebrows raise slightly before emptiness settles in her gaze, "I don't need anything." She bows, "But I appreciate the offer."

And just like that, she's walking away, pulling a jacket over her scars.

Mako notices my unease and pats my shoulder, "That girl is gonna be one hell of a hero someday."

"Yeah...one hell of a hero."