You're Like Dango [Midoriya Izuku X Reader]

Lasers and Wind Storms

The room is oddly cold, or maybe it's because it's lonely and I'm the only one there, dead center, sitting on a foldable chair, arms on the table.

I'm only met with silence, and the slight ringing in my ear. Not because of any accident, I think it's just to occupy my ear. But eery silence it slowly getting into my head.

I rub my face with my cold, clammy hands, elbows slowly turning white because of how hard I'm pressing them on the table's surface. If I felt jittery earlier, then I don't know how to explain what I'm feeling now. I wonder if I'll be able to describe what I may feel during my actual match.

My leg jiggles up and down, and there's an annoying tap tap tap with each time the sole of my boot hits the tiled floor.

Is it stuffy in here or is that just me?

After a few more seconds of just me tapping my feet nervously and breathing a little too deeply, I abruptly stand up, surprising myself a bit and almost knocking the foldable chair over, but I do manage to kick it away a few inches.

I need air, and this room isn't giving it to me.

Too harshly, I rip the door open, because I really can't breathe and the room's walls seem to be closing in on me.

Too quickly, I step out, like someone's in there driving me out.

Almost immediately, I heave out a sigh, of relief or fear, who really knows? I don't really know. I'm the one who's actually feeling this stuff.

I don't even notice Shinsou's right there.

When I finally am aware of my surroundings and look up, he stands there, and I guess he's either wandering around or he was in the bathroom, but I'm guessing the second one since I can see his hands are half-wet.

For a moment, it's like time is still, and he can see through my entire facade, and he may as well, he saw me step out with that urgency, he saw the look on my face.

What am I, an open book? A bad liar?

His eyes bore into mine, untill I finally look away and cough awkwardly.

"S-sorry. . ." I mutter, slowly backing away.

"What for?" He asks, and he's got this sort of, boredom or monotonous tone in his voice.

"I. . . I don't know. . . " I watch his eyes fall on my arm, and without knowing, I know what he's looking at. I know there's a huge gash-looking scar there. Awkwardly, I place my other hand over it.

He takes the hint. "Good luck," he says, almost curtly, and walks past.

"Thank you," I call quietly.

And not even two minutes later, my name is called, and I'm to be ready, near the entrance to where the arena leads.
.

"He's got a belt, and he's sparkly! From our hero course, Aoyama Yuga!" Present Mic shouts over the intercom, and Aoyama steps onto the concrete floor, to with he poses along with, adding the dramatic effect.

That's my opponent. That's who I'm terrified of losing to, to a certain extent of course. I'm also scared of what power he could potentially hold.

"And over here, she's shy and meek, [Last Name] [Name]!"

I feel my cheeks burn in embarrassment, but what, is he lying? And now isn't the time anyway, to fret about appearances and titles and whatnot.

"Ready. . ."

The edge in his voice as it loudly trails off, and all of sudden, I'm not me, I'm not in completely. I'm there but I'm not. For a second, well, maybe not even a second, I can't breathe.