Erase Herゾごホ

影 - shadow

(Y/n) Todoroki looked the most beautiful when she was crying.

Is it wrong to think that?

When water leaks from those innocent (e/c) orbs, when her cherry blossom lips press together into the tightest and most heartbreaking frown. That is when she seemed the most authentic. There was something about (y/n), something that made her different than the others, something that made her seem like she understood more than most.

Pain.

I saw her outside the hospital this morning. She seemed a bit more broken than the times before. Sitting in that damn wheelchair, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her UA sweatshirt, sobbing about how 'life was unfair' and 'how can they deny my request to implant the chip'. Life is unfair, Smokey.

In a world where becoming a Super Hero is a career choice and having a shit quirk separates us from them... You'd think you'd understand by now how people like us are always dealt the shit end of every stick. The god of this world is cruel, unruly, and most of all unforgiving. Breathe fire. What a nasty hand you were dealt, Smokey.

I wonder how it feels. To talk to you. I've never done it, well actually that's a bit of a fib. We have spoken once. In 'Sakura', that filthy little bar on the corner of fifth where you exercised your 'daddy issues' on sleazy old guys who had no business even breathing in your direction.

I still remember the way your voice sounded. Like flower petals in rose water. You remind me so much of your mother. It's comforting, the way your pitch changes depending on who you're speaking to.

You didn't say much to me the night we met, just apologized sweetly for bumping into me and spilling my drink. You probably never thought twice of the interaction, didn't even bother looking me in the eye, but those words are something I often think back to. Does that make me obsessive, Smokey?

I wonder how it feels to make you laugh. To be the reason you smile? I've only ever seen those terribly pink lips of yours turn upwards for that Erasure Hero. Shota Aizawa, was it?

Ever since your encounter with him at that poor excuse for a bar, the air around you feels lighter. Is that a good thing? I think it is although, I'm not sure. I want you to understand my pain, to understand my darkness. I worry that he has robbed you of the ability to do that. I sincerely hope not, because when we do meet, I want to hear your pain. I want to feel what you've been carrying around in that blackened soul of yours. I want to know what makes you break, I want to know how unhinged you can become. Are you the same as me? Are you darker? Those burns laced around your fingers tell me of a time that only you witnessed. I want to hear your usually smooth voice crack over the ache of things you can not change.  I want to hear your truths, no matter how disgusting, and I want to tell you mine.

I'm just curious. How deep does your pain run and what lengths would go to stop it? Would you go as far as me? Would you go further? Just how similar are we?

I'll be here, (y/n).

Waiting. Watching.

Until I can see those pretty pink lips press into a frown in person.