Erase Herゾごホ

前兆の誕生 - the birth of harbinger

Without you, I am nothing.

As someone who has been ripped of their legs, robbed of their brain power. I can say, with confidence, that without Shota Aizawa I would return back to that pitiful darkness I used to call home.

I rubbed my eyes, squinting to see the fine print of my textbook underneath the, dimmer than usual, kitchen light of Shoto's apartment.

"Signals, huh?" I muttered to myself with a small yawn, tiredly picking up my pencil and sketching out a small square. "I said I wasn't gonna make a chip, but here I am." My eyebrows furrowed together as I jotted down some random pieces of information that stuck out to me, particularly the fact about signals.

Signals require an electrical kind of wave, but because the human body is extremely advanced, we don't use the indicators as much as we could in our spinal cord. I pressed the lead of my pencil against the paper a bit harder, darkening the lines of the circle I made. A circle with the word, 'signals', in the center. My lips twitched at the thought.

What if I can activate those signals?

My eyes widened at the idea.

What if I can force my body to use them?

"That's it." I whispered, frantically flipping through the pages of my book at 2 AM on this dark and gloomy Tuesday. If I could do this, I could fix my legs. I drew in a breath, almost not believing myself. This is the first idea I've had since I descended on the journey to cure my own paralysis. An electrical wave to activate dormant sensors? It is a shot in the dark, a long shot in the dark, but it's something. Something I think Shota would be proud of.

And it was then, on that unnoticeably cataclysmic night, at the odd hour of 2 AM, when Eraserhead stumbled through the front door of his apartment look shabbier than normal. His legs were shaking, his hair was a tangled disaster, his hero costume torn at the seams. I couldn't hold back the dramatic gasp escaping my lips as the man I love drearily lifted his head and peered at me through the bangs of his hair and the gaps of his yellow hero goggles.

"Shota?" I said, a bit lost for words at this point. I could've said a lot more, I could've asked what the fuck was going on, if he was okay, or what I should I even do in a situation like this.

"Fuck." Is all he managed to get out in return before collapsing to his knees in the doorway. I didn't think too much, wheeling myself forward at the most inhumane rate the strength of my arms could produce. This backfired on me as a wheel of my chair got caught on the leg of a kitchen table, propelling my body forward and tossing me to the ground not two feet away from Shota. My hands broke my fall but I didn't waste anytime, my fingers clawing at the hardwood floor, crawling towards Shota who was still a crumpled ball in the doorway of his apartment. "(Y/n).." He coughed, a bit of blood spurting from his lips.

I knew the dangers of getting involved with a pro hero. I knew he had the obligation to lay his life on the line night after night. But for some reason I never pictured him limping through the door way, struggling to stand on his two feet after an unusually late patrol. He was invincible, right? He had to be.

"Shota!" I finally decided to cry out, the broken man within arms reach. My hands slipped up his face, brushing his black hair to the side and yanking his yellow goggles down to look at his eyes. The normally tired hero, whose eyes remained half lidded most of the time, had those exhausted looking orbs closed off from me. His lips parting slightly as an uneasy flow of air made its way in and out. I furrowed my eyebrows together, my own hands trembling as my gaze ran over a nasty looking gash resting on his hairline. "What..what...happened?" I stuttered, my finger wiping drips of blood from slipping down his cheek anymore.