I put my bag in the cubby area and took my notebook and pen from it, bounding my way to my seat. My grubby five-year-old hands took hold of the pen in an awkward position, my other one opening the book to the first page. The pen glided with relative ease across the lined paper, the dark lines scratchy and short as the words slowly formed. I hummed to myself and kicked my legs under the table, tips of my sneakers barely grazing the spotted tile.
I didn't look up when the other children started to file in, engrossed with my choppy and horribly written notes. They were on the hero I saw on the news last night, one in America who was planning on coming back to Japan. He was a fairly new hero, large, buff, and looking oddly like a bunny. I scribbled a sketch in the middle of the page, a list of attributes to the side. It mostly stated the colors and the fact that he looked like a rabbit, and that he has a quirk akin to a strength enhancement.
"Hey." I looked up from my concentrated position and stared at Bakugo, who stood there in all his glory. A dark, purply-blue spot was right under his eye, a sign of where I punched him yesterday. He glared at me and folded his arms, the two behind him, whose names I couldn't care to remember, if they were ever said, following suit. His bruised eye twitched, crimson eyes watching my every move. "You never said your name yesterday, what is it?"
---
Lunch came faster than I thought it would, and I realized that dad had never actually dropped me off with my food. It was on the kitchen counter, packed in all of its brown bag glory. I stayed seated when the teacher called for everyone to get their food, going back to my notes instead. Some markers I brought were strewn across the table, various reds and blues closer to my paper. The yellow was in my hand, and I was coloring in the hair, the darker pen I used for the lines smearing slightly.
"(L/N), move your stuff." Bakugo sat down across from me, pushing away the markers closest to him. I rolled my eyes and picked them up, putting most of them away and grabbing the blue one. The ink set into the paper where I intended it to go, his costume coming together a little at a time. It wasn't Picasso, but it would do.
I eyed the blond's lunch, revenge oddly tempting to my young mind. He pulled out the same meal as yesterday, onigiri a common recurrence in the short amount of time. Three rice triangles were in the box, accompanied by noodles and red pepper flakes scattered throughout. With the sheer amount of speed only a kindergartener could have, I put away everything and grabbed one of the onigiri rolls, shouting 'revenge' and running to the playground.
Now I wasn't a bad student, in fact, I was usually the one who did all of my work quietly and efficiently. This new act of defiance was deemed fun, and I reveled in it, holding the food in my mouth and climbing the playset. I sat atop the arc over the slide, swinging my legs back and forth while the blond ran from the school building a few minutes later. He probably finished his lunch, then decided to be angry about it. What a strange way of dealing with things, putting it off and going to it later.
I laughed at the blond and took a bite of the triangular onigiri, the plain rice and dried seaweed mixing together fairly well. Bakugo yelled at me again, small explosions popping in the palms of his hands. The taste of the food melted in my mouth, a burst of citrus coming from the middle of the grainy concoction. Sweet but salty, the orange flavor mixing with the seaweed, was a new mixture to add to the ones I've tried, earning a spot in one of the top ten.
"Fight me, idiot!" Bakugo yelled to my perch, grin full of malice across his soft and chubby five-year-old face. His crimson orbs were round and pure, though the child-like innocence that was once held in his fiery eyes were gone. They held a hidden rage and overflowed with confidence, something a five-year-old shouldn't have much of. Maybe an overabundance of kindness and the love for sweets, but not hate and cockiness. "Or are you afraid I'll blow you to bits?"
"Those fun-sized lights can do nothing more than burn a piece of grass, try blowing me up with those and see how it goes," I called back, finishing the onigiri and smiling with a cockiness to match his own. He seemed vaguely offended by my remark. His brows furrowed and he climbed up the playset, jumping in an attempt to reach my foot to pull me down. I continued swinging my legs until his two other friends came out, one with the bat-like wings and the other with his long fingers. That was my hint to book it, so I carefully, with the grace of a kindergartener, jumped from the plastic arc and landed on the winged child, his stout body cushioning my fall.
---
Dad was late again, the sky darkening little by little. The moon had become more prominent in the navy sky, stars littering the matte color like splatters on a canvas. The children were long gone, and the echoes of playful banter weren't heard, having faded into the dark when parents picked up their respective kids. A chilling breeze ruffled the leaves on the ground, the orange glow of the streetlights flickering on and illuminating the cracked sidewalk.
There were small, fresh burns on my arms, scrapes, and cuts less abundant on my skin. Holes were in my shirt, closer to the hem of it where I had fallen and when Bakugo decided to be a dick. I pulled my knees closer to the center of my body, conserving body heat and forming a defensive position. Why my dad wasn't here was beyond me, and it was rather annoying. I wondered if he was with some cars passing by on the main road.
I flinched away at the sound of leaves crunching, the steps coming closer slowly and cautiously. My eyes stayed focused on the pavement in front of me, clovers and dandelions poking through the cracks in the grey cement. The treading of leaves moved to the concrete, tapping of the sidewalk resonating through the quiet surroundings. I turned slightly, my (E/C) eyes meeting red ones, a common color in the past few days.
"Ah, hi! I'm sorry if I scared you..." The boy's voice was rough and tired, lips chapped and skin in desperate need of moisturizer. His dark hair flitted to the side as he tilted his head, strands sticking from under the hood he had on. He rubbed his puffy eyes, red and raw from what seemed to be crying. A shadow loomed behind him, staying away from the brighter lights of the streetlamps. I looked between them, turning fully to get a better image of the pair. "If it's alright to ask, why are you out here by yourself?"
"I'm waiting for my dad..." I muttered, scooting away from the shady-looking people. A pressure ripped slowly from my back and a sharp breath left my mouth, a hand pressing against my skin feeling unnaturally cold and wispy. I recognized it to be my quirk and hid my surprise, looking up again to the dark-haired male and his taller companion. His vibrant ruby eyes glistened in the pale orange glow, a pained but sinister look igniting in his fiery gaze.
"Are you cold? Uhm..." He spoke. I backed away from them again, a nervous smile making its way into my face. The hand was ready to come out at any moment, my breathing coming out faster and choppier. He noticed my discomfort and took a step back, hands raising in the air slightly and waving around as if he didn't pose a threat. I crossed my arms over my chest defensively, eyeing the two of them up and down again.
"I'm a little cold, yea." I held on to my sleeves as the hand against my back shifted. It was defensive. The dark-haired boy brightened and started to take off his hoodie, a black shirt underneath. He gave it to me, his dry face stretched into a smile. Though, it didn't look like a sinister one, just a plain old friendly smile. It was calming.
"Here! Uh, keep it." He stepped back again once headlights pulled into the parking lot. Dad was here. It took him long enough. The car door slammed shut and steps came up the concrete stairs. There was a subtle scent of alcohol that followed him as he came up, and it didn't sit well with me.
It was gross.
YOU ARE READING
UnStoppable (MHA Various x Reader)
Fanfiction(Y/N) was, in short, a hypocritical bitch.
