Maigo- A BNHA OC Story

In the Morning

Gently, she pulls herself out of her dreams. Her body does not want to forget the feeling of comfort. It has been so long since she has experienced even the slightest hint of it. Sighing, she lies back and lets herself indulge for just a little longer. She spreads her fingers, slipping them over the cool, soft sheets that lay below her body. Underneath, she can imagine a small cloud cradling her even smaller form. She squirms under a thick blanket, not wanting the dream to end.

This is the danger of playing the game: you can get so wrapped up in your own world that you completely slip away from reality. Your body is still present, going through the motions of your day-to-day life, but your mind has flown elsewhere. One slip-up, and you could become seriously injured, not even realizing it until someone else has enough strength to pull you out of your daydreams. She knows the dangers; she is familiar with the consequences. And yet, she does not seem to want to leave her mind, leave her imagination. It's so much better in here anyway.

Reluctantly, she begins to reel herself back into the real world, back to the harsh circumstances she finds herself in every morning. She stretches her arms above her head, fists gently pushing the wall behind her. Its smooth surface greets her knuckles, gently bowing in order for her to stretch farther. Her legs strain when extended, knees and toes cracking. Her bare feet brush past the folds in the sheets, poking out the bottom, hanging off the edge of the bed.

Bare feet?!

Panic forces her to bolt upright. She has never remembered a time when she had removed her shoes before bed, much less her socks. The covers on top of her gently float up at her sudden movements. Her head jerks left and right, absorbing all that surrounds her.

She is in a bed. She is surrounded by four walls. Cheery sunlight pours in through an open window to her right. On her left, a door swings slightly in the breeze that blows across the room. There is nothing on the wall in front of her, save for a desk and a chair. The desk holds her shoes, socks and shirt. Her jacket and pants are hung over the back of the chair. Behind her, another door hides in the corner, closed shut. She does not remember getting here.

Looking down, she does not recognize the shirt that covers her entire body, fabric folding over itself, rippling down her torso and resting on her upper legs. Lifting the hem resting around the middle of her bare thighs, she discovers shorts that are not hers. She does not remember changing. She does not know where she is or what has happened.

Panic rushes in and out of her lungs. Adrenaline courses through her body, taking residence in her muscles. She scrambles out of the bed and rushes for the open door. She needs to get out, before whoever took her here comes back. She does not want to see what they will do to her once they realize she is awake.

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The man stands at the stove in his kitchen. He does not even know why he paid for it; he has never shown any interest in learning how to cook. Still, he does not know if his guest has ever had a hot meal before. He carefully studies what he has gathered in front of him: three eggs, a pan, and some butter. He still needs to find a spoon to stir them with.

Searching through his cabinets to find the utensil, he allows his thoughts to invade his consciousness. What was he thinking, taking a child back to his apartment? And did he really have a plan for when she woke up? It's not like she could just stay here. Someone must be looking for her.

His eyes rest on the mess of blankets strewn about on his couch. He thinks back to last night, carrying the bundle of yellow fabric and child through the door into his apartment. He had gently placed her on his bed, ready to just put the covers over her. Then he had realized just how sopping wet she had become. Puddles were already forming on the sheets where he had put her down. There was no way he could have just left her like that- no amount of blankets could have kept her warm enough to last through the night. He remembers how he fished through his bare drawers, finally landing on a t-shirt that was a size too small for him and a clean pair of boxers. He remembers how he carefully changed her, making sure he did not wake her up, in case she got the wrong idea and tried to run. He remembers how he had tucked her in, one stuffed animal on each side, like tiny guardians, watching her sleep. She had done such a good job keeping them dry.

His hand finally lands on a wooden spoon. He walks back to the stove and tries to formulate a plan. First, he needs to turn the heat on. Then, the pan needs to be buttered, so the eggs don't stick to the bottom. He still has not decided if he should scramble the eggs or fry them. Either way, he would use the spoon to push them around in the pan-

A dull THUD! off to his left interrupts his thoughts. He has barely enough time to turn his head before witnessing the girl bursting through the bedroom door, falling over onto her hands and knees. Her breaths come out in high pitches, eyes wide and filled with worry. Her entire face is red with fear. He stands there, staring at her. He cannot move.

The child struggles to her feet, knees shaking as she grips the doorknob for support. She raises her head, and her eyes meet his. Her entire body freezes, like a paused TV character.

Say something!

The man swallows, closing his slightly open mouth. He takes a microscopic step toward the girl. Her breath hitches, and she stumbles back through the door frame and falls into the bedroom.

"Hey..." he tries his hardest to soften his voice, tries to sound comforting, tries to do anything to look less intimidating. Explain yourself! Tell her she's okay!

"How do you like your eggs?"

   Are you KIDDING ME?!?!

The girl scuttles farther away from him, eyes never leaving his face. She backs up into the bed, suddenly realizing she has nowhere else to go.

The man slowly reaches a hand out toward her, offering to help her up. He continues inching closer. He knows she is scared, and understands why. He knows she will try and run, without even thinking about what she is doing. He knows she will possibly try and use her quirk. He does not know how to let her know she is safe.

"It's okay," he whispers. "I won't hurt you."

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"I won't hurt you."

Then what will he do? She has been through this too many times. She has witnessed almost every scenario, seen the outcome of almost every choice. There are very few that end up well.

She has to act now. She can't fight, she would be overpowered. If she turns to her clothes, he could easily rush in and grab her. And who's to say if he doesn't, she'll be fast enough to grab her clothes and escape anyway? She is too scared to focus on her quirk. Her best option is to just leave. She can find clothes somewhere else. All she needs is those two stuffed animals.

With a plan set in place, she hops up on the bed, hoping that having the higher ground will startle the man reaching down to grab her. His eyes follow her movements, but he makes no more motion toward her. She snatches up the two ratty plushies from their resting spots on the mattress and backs up toward the window. The man's eyes widen as he suddenly realizes what she is about to do. Swallowing her fear, the girl pushes the glass all the way open and leaps.