Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Saturday, 4 pm, City Z...

"Bwahahaha! I am the Chloroform Cloth! If you get too close, you will pass out! If you pass out, I'll eat your innards! Fear for your lives!"

Passersby only take short glances to observe this monster who is, in fact, a giant cloth with bulging eyes, a mouth, and metal rods for legs. The incessant nails-on-a-chalkboard screech of his legs irritate your ears with every step -- er, slide, you guess. He doesn't really walk. It's more like a penguin waddle except it's far from cute. And Chloroform Cloth is quite a name, is that really all there is to him? The smell of the chemical does penetrate the air, although it's quite subtle. You assume he probably douses himself in chloroform every day for this effect. The part about eating the innards might concern anyone who can't outrun him, but there appears to be nobody with any sort of mobility issues in the immediate vicinity so at least they're safe. Even then, you doubt the cloth is much of a threat. He doesn't even have arms, and there's no way a cloth has any sort of digestive track. If he were to fail a tackle, he wouldn't be able to stand up. With all of that analysis out of the way, you conclude that he genuinely isn't any harm to you, so you resume your trek home from the grocery store.

Yep. Another day, another ridiculous monster wreaking havoc upon society. To be completely honest, you're not sure why you bother still slogging through life the way you do now. Every other day you have to deal with this kind of bullshit and you're not sure if it's even worth the trouble leaving your house for groceries. Would it be cruel to starve yourself out until you expire? Hell, the thought of just giving this weirdo the satisfaction of eating one person crosses your mind, although the actual consumption process still eludes your brain, so you opt not to.

This is your life, contemplating your existence on a daily basis, wondering if you deserve to take up as much space as you do. It never used to be this way. You were happy once, at least you think you were. It's hard to remember the last time you were truly satisfied. Truthfully, you've always struggled with depression and suicidal ideation, yet the past six months you've been dealt a particularly bad hand. You were booted from your job after being unable to prevent a robbery (good riddance to your horrible boss at least), evicted from your cozy apartment in City Y for "suspicious activity" you had no knowledge of and now you're squatting in a the only functioning apartment complex in the abandoned sector of City Z. Your savings account is nearly depleted. You spend most of your days alone, tired and wishing for some kind of release. Not much goes for you, your only two friends busy with their hero careers, your family practically nonexistent. Your only sense of purpose seems to be the raccoon living in the dumpster behind your apartment, a bare minimum you're ready to let go as soon as she decides to move on. For now, you still feed her and keep her company.

"Why aren't you running away in fear?! Did you not hear me?!" The Chloroform Cloth drags you from your thoughts as he approaches, eyebrows furrowed at your willful ignorance of his presence. Now that you're closer, the chloroform smell is starting to make your head a bit dizzy, but it's nothing the facemask in your pocket can't fix. Do you really want to do that though? Getting a better look at him, he actually appears to be... malnourished. The whites of his eyes are red and dry like he's been crying, his mouth is wrinkled and cracked, dehydration evident on cloth. It could just be from soaking himself in chloroform, but who are you to speculate any further? Pity seeps into your chest, and you can't really bear to look at him anymore. He reminds you too much of yourself.

You huff and turn around to walk away as you normally do. The thought of feeding him lingers in the back of your head, persistent as his rods dragging after you. You decide to purposely slow your pace. If your back is turned, you can't see it happening. You won't be able to tell if he catches up, you try to convince yourself, but the confliction of your fear and want for death continues to prod at your animal instinct, sending it back and forth between submission and survival. You lean more towards the former, your rationale being he's more determined to live than you are. You don't have the right if you refuse to properly take care of yourself, you argue. This guy? He wants to stay alive. He's struggling constantly for his next meal. He's not pleasant to look at or speak to, and the only reason he's leading this life now is probably because of that.

"Hey!! Get back here, I'm not finished terrorizing yet!!" shouts the sentient fabric, his pace growing in speed. The sound of his rods alone kicks your instincts into gear and your legs reflexively pick up the pace. Why are you so afraid? You don't want to live, so why are you trying to escape? He could end all of your troubles right here, right now. You won't be missed, you won't be mourned, your one missing life won't affect anyone or this world in the slightest. So why are you still walking away?

You will yourself to stop, the pounding of your heart dropping further into your stomach as you begin to sweat. His trailing comes to a halt as well, the stench of his substance filling your nostrils. Your trembling hand slides into your pocket, clammy fingers grasping around the face mask, but you tell yourself this is for the best. You deserve your fate. You can't back out of this now, you've made up your mind. An opportunity like this comes nearly every day for you, and it's time you finally take it. Yet still your fingers tether in the ear straps, ready to whip  it out and cover your face.

"Finally!!" he exclaims, relishing in your shaking form. "Now that you've stopped, I can commence my reign of terror! Are you prepared to die, human?!"

You don't respond, tears prickling your eyes and dribbling down your cheeks as you shut them tight, feeling the cloth brush up against your back. He releases a malicious laugh, tongue dipping out to lap at your earlobe and enjoying the way you shrink away from the act, "Delicious..."

Your head is fuzzy and disoriented, the chloroform finally taking effect. You wait for the crunch on your head, or will he attack elsewhere? Perhaps he'll start at the bottom of your spine to immobilize you, or maybe he likes to take the limbs one by one. There's a sliver of a chance he might show you mercy and just swallow you whole, enveloping you in whatever void his mouth consists of. Whatever the case, you'd prefer not to suffer, though you may have picked the wrong monster for that. It's too late to take it back now, your mind still struggling to remain conscious when your body stumbles forward, tumbling down onto your knees. You can't feel your legs anymore, quaking hands gripping onto your forearms as hard as you can, nails digging into your skin. This is it. You've chosen the end of your path. You've dug your own grave, and now you must lie in it.

You wait. And wait, and wait, and wait.

But death does not come. Only heat and wind, the sound of disintegrating matter, and a single word.

"Incinerate."

Heavy footsteps approach your slumped figure, and you're too distraught and confused to open your eyes. You were so certain death was looming over you seconds ago, then suddenly the feeling is gone, replaced with a soothing gust of warm air and a pair of metallic arms wrapping themselves around you. You find the strength to open your eyes, frightened of what you may find -- you're met with concerned golden irises staring back at you instead. He doesn't speak when a short gasp leaves your mouth, your sobs contained into a quiet cry. His cool arms are soothing on your hot skin, the churning of his internal components bringing an unknown comfort.

Your numbed arms have some power to lift, weakly reaching your tremoring palms to clasp onto his tanktop. He doesn't react to the action, hooking an arm underneath your legs and hoisting you up from the ground. You're struggling to say something, a mix between "why" and "thank you", but his attendance completely dazes you. He hasn't looked away, his full attention still trained on you as if he is patiently waiting for you to speak. Nothing comes out.

You're unconscious as soon as he starts walking.

Chapter Text

        Sunday, 1:30 pm, City Z...

        Bright lights shine through your eyelids as you rouse from your slumber, opening them to a squint. Your first thought is questioning whether or not you're truly still alive, your sight meeting a white ceiling and nose smelling the sterile environment. The chloroform scent lingers in your nostrils despite your new surroundings, nose scrunching in distaste. Your body aches with trauma, carefully pulling yourself upward onto a propped pillow. It further irritates your bones, so you settle uncomfortably in your new position. You glance at your surroundings and take note of the blue curtain dangling around one side of your bed, and trail your eyes to the other side to linger on a small basket of assorted snacks. Your mind blanks at who could possibly leave such a gift, convinced it might not even be yours. There's a chair too, so someone has been here to see you, or it was placed there in case anyone did. Heh, yeah right.

        There's a small television hanging in the corner ceiling of the room flipped to one of Amai Mask's movies, but the remote is just out of reach for you to change the channel. At least the sound is off, you think. Averting your gaze down at your body clothed in hospital pajamas, you're relatively unharmed save for the pain in the back of your head, a side effect of that fabric fiend's chloroform. Speaking of which, aren't your roles supposed to be reversed? Last you recall, you should be the dead one and he should be continuing his reign of terror. You press your palms to your chest, making sure you actually are physically here and not in some purgatory, although how you would know is silly to think about. You're breathing, so you're alive and that's that. Reality hits like a ton of bricks, suddenly souring your stomach and crushing you with the weight of living.

        A recollection of yesterday's events come back in flashes. You don't remember being unwillingly rescued, just the complex feelings that came with your survival. You're relieved and cursing your savior at the same time, embarrassed they thought you wanted or needed to be saved. Eyeing the IV in your arm, you're half tempted to rip it off and waltz out of here to finish the job the monster couldn't, but your body would definitely disagree with that. No reason to make it worse and confine you to this bed any longer. You can wait until you can safely do it with nobody around to find you.

        You hear the door of the hospital room sliding open, the silhouette of a person coming inside from behind the curtain. They walk all the way around to the other side instead of pulling it back, revealing themselves and a tray of food to you. Their unmistakable mop of brown hair and thick glasses give them away instantly, and they're visibly stunned to see you awake. You try to crack a smile, knowing it's crooked.

        "Hey Satoru." you greet casually as if you weren't just thinking about killing yourself, watching his fingers loosen around the food tray.

        "[N-Name]! You're awake!" his tone is filled with joy, grinning wide and quickly putting the food on the bedside table next to the basket that you determined is from him. Of course it is, now that you thought harder about it. He's the only person considerate enough to do anything like that for you, it's in his nature to be polite and kind. He probably does this for everyone he helps, being a hero and all. Class-C Rank 1 is not an easy position to hold you imagine, especially when it belongs to the beloved cyclist for justice, Mumen Rider.

        He sits down in the chair by your bed, still clad in his hero gear minus the helmet and goggles. He must have grabbed the food right after coming back from a patrol, a small bandage neatly placed over his nose. You furrow your brows with concern, hoping it wasn't an injury from another person. He notices your staring and lets out an embarrassed laugh, scratching the back of his head, "I had to chase down a thief before I came here. I... hit my nose when I tackled him. I'm okay though!" Boldly, he places a hand on yours, his cheery smile turning into a frown, "But what about you?"

        "I'm fine." you reply too quickly. You turned your head away from him, trying to look anywhere but his face. He has no reason to worry about you, he shouldn't even be here. You'll be out of his hair soon enough. "I was attacked and someone saved me. That's it."

        Satoru doesn't believe you, although he doesn't push the subject. You obviously are not willing to talk about it now, probably never will be. You know he is suspicious of the circumstances that led to you needing rescue, why wouldn't he be? You've avoided monster trouble pretty well in the past, even in the face of demon level threats. You don’t blame him for thinking the way he does despite how much it annoys you. It brings you back to how you met, with him talking you down from a suicide attempt many years ago. You’d rather not look back on it, at least not at this present moment. The deities know you’ve pondered on it enough and so has he.

        You’ve taken to glaring at the television, hatred for “the most handsome hero” an unhealthy distraction from your internal torment. Satoru would rather you not focus on something so negative and grabs the remote just out of your reach to hand to you. “Thanks.” you mumble, flipping the channel to a news report. There was a large scale monster attack today, not far from the hospital. It explains the general buzz of the place outside of your room, lots of new victims coming in for treatment. You’re grateful Satoru wasn’t caught in the mess.

        There’s a few minutes of footage from a news helicopter focusing on a a familiar looking S-Class fighting off an entire swarm of monsters, blasting them with fire attacks from his robotic arms and jumping around like it’s no problem for him. His infinite stamina and precise movements keep you interested in the scuffle, blonde locks billowing around his head. The attacks are seemingly endless yet he keeps the pace, even speeding up as he gets into a certain rhythm you’re inclined to follow. Then finally, when the monsters cease their onslaught, they zoom in on his golden hues, hauntingly staring at the camera. It strikes your chest, bringing your near-death from yesterday back in full.

        “It was him,” you say, pointing up at the tv, “he’s the one who saved me.”

        “Ah, yeah. I know, there’s...” he’s hesitant to continue, and you stare until he confesses, “there’s a video online.”

        Your eyes flash, “Show me.”

        Satoru gulps, worry on his lips. He doesn’t want you to feel pathetic, you’re a civilian after all. Disaster Level Wolf monster threats can and often do harm people much like a human assailant would, they’re labeled threats for that very reason. But you know he can see it. The icy glint in your eyes, determined to see just exactly how helpless you were to give you more incentive to take your life. He shakes his head, risking your disappointment, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

        Crossing your arms, you avert your [e/c] hues back to the television. Whatever. You won’t fight his decision. You’ll be able to search for it later when you finally get the fuck out of here, then you can wallow in misery and plan how to go about your fate. It’ll be good motivation, you think.

        Your friend nervously clears his throat, pushing the tray of food closer to you. The contents consist of a variety of foods including a small bowl of mixed fruit, some white rice and a neatly folded omelette. A cup of tea sit neatly at the corner of the tray. "I thought you might be hungry." His eyes drift over to the basket of assorted snacks, "Something more health-conscious than those. But if that's what you want to eat instead, that's fine too!"

        His efforts to remain positive in your presence does elicit a warmth of gratitude in your body. He's even preparing the chopsticks for you, grasping onto a piece of fruit and offering it to you. You humor him and pluck a plump strawberry from the chopsticks, popping it into your mouth and chewing it slowly. It feels strange going down your esophagus when you swallow, like your own body believes you're even unworthy of eating. You're not particularly hungry, but worrying Satoru any more than you already have won't make this any easier. Seeing him so upset over someone so pathetic, it makes your chest feel tight. His love and empathy knows no bounds.

        He grins, satisfied he got you to at least take a bite of something. You've gotten so small recently, it pains him to see you this defeated. He feels guilty for not prioritizing a person he cares so deeply for. Three times a week isn't enough time with you, and doing his best to help you out financially while you search endlessly for a new job doesn't seem to be helping much either. He offered for you to come live with him instead of allowing you to squat in an abandoned apartment complex, yet you insisted you'd be a burden to him. You hardly even come over anymore in fear of using up his utilities. Satoru knows from the bottom of his heart he wouldn't mind a bit, and still you persist with this troubling idea that he would regret taking you in.

        "So am I on suicide watch or no?"

        You ask the question so casually he does a double-take, having an issue processing those words. He detected some annoyance in your tone too, as if preserving your livelihood is an inconvenience. It's tough, trying to convince you your life is worth living. You've always been stubborn, and it's not in him to give up on anyone, not even when he's utterly beat. Your friendship can be best described as an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. You refuse to see the light, and he refuses to stop shining it on you.

        "I'm not sure. I don't think they know..." he pauses, not wanting to directly allude to your actions from yesterday, "Would you like me to ask?" Now that you're awake, he's not so sure he wants to leave you here by yourself just to ask a nurse such a grim question.

        You stare down at your fingers, noticing you've been subconsciously picking at the skin around your nails. You don't want to know the answer, your hospital record shows a few instances of involuntary inpatient (thanks to your other "friend", and you use that word loosely) so the doctors might go that route again if they figure out this wasn't an ordinary monster attack. That's just the worst-case scenario, another possibility is a mental health assessment followed by a depression diagnosis and some recommended therapy. That seems a lot more likely, and a complete waste of your time. You'd rather be discharged now and go the fuck home to finish what you started.

        "No thanks."

        Satoru finds himself both relieved and concerned.

        Your apartment is littered with dirty clothing scattered across the floor and empty, half-eaten instant noodle cups sitting on top of every possible surface. Satoru invited himself inside after escorting you home and decided on staying until he was called back to action. He didn't mention the smell when he stepped in. In fact, he grabbed a trash bag and began picking up the garbage. The guilt of watching your best friend pick up after you motivated you to at least throw your dirty clothes in a basket and open a window to air out the stench.

        You were discharged hours ago with a list of recommended therapists and two months of outpatient treatment. Although you're grateful with the outcome of not being forced to stay in the hospital, you agreed to outpatient at Satoru's request, thus delaying your plans to end your life. You wish that was all there is to it, but your luck would have it a doctor decided to sign you up for a new program you never asked to be part of. It's not official yet, so you are one of many unwilling participants as a "test group". Just rereading the words on the paper make your blood boil as Satoru walks you home from the hospital.

        "This is just a fucking wellness check with extra steps." You complain, eyes angrily re-scanning the title and ensuing paragraphs. Satoru cringes at your harsh use of the profanity, noting your clenched jaw and quivering fists. He doesn't dare express to you how thankful he is for this program.

        Mental Up! Services, or more commonly known as Happy Corps. is a hero program in its beta stage of development. Qualified heroes volunteer some of their time to physically aiding civilians with poor mental health. A few of the duties include ensuring their physical health isn't deteriorating, escorting them to and from locations, and monitoring their behaviors to send back to headquarters for further study in mental health research. The information booklet mentions these heroes will have training in de-escalation tactics should a civilian become irate, and extra precaution will be taken with civs on special watch instructions.

        This is especially unfortunate for you. The doctors did take your history into consideration after a nosy nurse recognized you from the viral video of your assault. A team of psychs analyzed the footage, somehow finding your intentions in your body language. While they determined you didn't go looking for a reason to put yourself in harm's way, they discovered you were an opportunist when certain death was staring you down. What you want to know is why didn't they consult you first? You're the person whose most affected here and your feelings haven't been acknowledged at all. You don't want help. It's too late for you to get help.

        "Does it mention who your hero will be?" Satoru asks, hoping for a name he recognizes. You aggressively crumple your discharge papers and throw them across the room along with the Happy Corps. booklet.

        "It doesn't. But I don't give a shit."

        He bites his lip, disappointed. He doesn't know what else to say. It's been increasingly more difficult to keep up his optimistic disposition when he's with you. He so desperately wants you to hold on, to find purpose in your life and keep existing for as long as possible. His hopes are for you to make friends in therapy and realize you are worthy of living, then make an effort to better yourself, only this time with more attentive love and support rather than just him... well, maybe not just him. Although you are hesitant to mention your other friend much anymore after your last breakdown. As far as he knows, that friend hasn't contacted you much in a little over a month, so at the moment, your only friend might as well be him.

       Satoru settles on one of the floor pillows beside you, grabbing the television remote off your chabudai and flipping it on to drown out the tension in the room, "Maybe they'll tell you tomorrow."

       You scoff. Part of you hopes you’ll peacefully pass in your sleep tonight just to be petty, or your involvement in this asinine program is completely forgotten about due to some negligence in hospital filing. The former is far more desirable, but you’ll take whatever you can get.

        A dejected sigh flows from Satoru’s throat as he wraps an arm around your shoulder and squeezes with intent to comfort. Despite all of your wishing for release, the gesture doesn’t go unappreciated. You value his neverending efforts to help you, and adore him with all of your being. He is the only person you know you can trust in absolute. He brings out whatever good you have left, and sometimes... sometimes he gives you hope that you could get better.

        He smiles when you lean your head on his shoulder, “Everything will be okay. You’re stronger than you know.”

        You wish you could believe that.

        You were fast asleep. One moment you’re sharing colorful commentary about a movie playing on the television, the next you’re out like a light, arms tucked underneath your head on top of your chabudai. You’ll probably sleep for a little over ten hours, Satoru can count on that. He’s known you long enough to be sure it’s your favorite thing in the world.

        “It’s like a trial run of death without the commitment.” He shudders. That comment still makes him uncomfortable to this day. At the time he figured it was a jest; he knows the truth now.

        He lowers the volume of the television. If he turns it off, you’ll wake up. He believes it can’t be good for you but it’s the only way you can sleep without interruption. He grabs a folded blanket from under the chabudai and gently drapes it over your back. He’s tempted to at least slip a pillow beneath your head though that runs at a risk of waking you. He takes a long look at your tranquil features, admiring how relaxed you appear. It reminds him of the past, of a period years ago when you were almost content.

        Aware of the time, he quietly grabs his helmet from the table, though not before glancing at your phone. It’s unlocked, brightly lit and revealing a text conversation. He shouldn’t snoop, it would be disrespectful. His eyes accidentally caught a glimpse anyway.

IAIAN

me

(3:45 pm) can we talk

me

(4:03 pm) listen i know you’ve been busy i know we haven’t talked in a while but

me

(4:04 pm) i really need to talk to you

me

(5:01 pm) i was in the hospital after a monster attack but i’m out. satoru brought me home and i am going to therapy tomorrow. but that’s not what i needed to tell you  

me

(5:36 pm) i know kamikaze has you constantly doing stuff i just need to tell you something now or else i’ll never have the chance to again

me

(6:13 pm) i don’t mean to blow up your phone this is just really important to me

me

(8:52 pm) you know what. nevermind. it’s not worth it.

me

(8:55 pm) it’s not fair of me to do this to you. i’m sorry. just forget it.

        Satoru’s stomach sours. Out of everything he is able to do for you, this is the one thing he has no power over and it crushes him. All he can do is hope that your friend will get back to you in the morning.

        He leaves your apartment praying you’ll wake up tomorrow feeling okay. It’s wishful thinking, but he can still try.

Chapter Text

Monday, 8:30 am, City Z...

        You almost pulled the plug this morning.

        Your apartment is on the 5th floor of the complex with access to the roof via staircase just by your door. Though your balcony could serve the same purpose for your... plotted demise, climbing over the railing somehow feels less convenient than taking three flights of stairs. Besides, there's a better view of the city from the roof as opposed to your residence, where an annoyingly massive highway obscures most of the view. Despite all of this city's problems, it's a better way to go out with a final breathtaking sight of blue skies abundant with puffy, white clouds and a savory summer breeze ruffling your clothes against your skin.

        Well, it would be anyway, if it wasn't pouring down rain.

        God, the universe really wants you to experience one more day of torturous existence.

        You asked yourself often why you don't just commit to the classic methods, like slitting your throat, hanging by the ceiling fan, drowning yourself in the bathtub, etc. And you've tried at least two of those, but your biggest problem is the wait. And the pain. And the struggle.

        It takes two whole minutes to drown. Two. That's two minutes of feeling your lungs fill with fluid and choking until your body gives out. No thanks. Hanging had a similar gasping-for-air affect. And you don't like the thought of slitting your throat, that's just a double whammy. Searing pain AND gagging on your own blood? Absolutely not. It's times like these you wish assisted suicide was legal, then you could go get euthanized without issue. You don't want to hurt when it ends, you simply want the end. Jumping off of the roof and splatting below without a second thought is instantaneous enough that it shouldn't bring any ache. Thinking on it some more, nothing is truly stopping you from doing this today, but... committing suicide in such dreadful weather is a little too dramatic, right?

        Agh, that sounds stupid. You should just fucking do it already. Stop making excuses. Stop being such a pussy. You've backed out too many times before, and you pretend it's superficial reasons like "ThE wEaThEr" or "wHaT iF sOmEoNe WaLkS bY", but truthfully you know the one thing that always stops you is the image of Satoru's smiling face popping up in your brain.

       This is pathetic. You're pathetic. Everyone would be better off without you. Satoru, Iaian, the dude at the ramen shop who is constantly feeding you for free, everyone. Nobody would have to waste precious energy worrying over your physical and emotional well-being ever again. Satoru could focus on his hero career full time, Iaian could move on perfectly fine with his life just as he has already, the ramen man won't have to lose anymore profit for pity-serving you. You're an unbearably heavy burden on everyone, you always will be until you're gone for good.

        Clenching your fists tight, your resolve is set in stone. You're gonna do it right now. You're still in yesterday's clothes, your hair is an unwashed mop of grease, you probably stink to high hell from body odor. All the more reason to put yourself down like the diseased dog you are. Your feet stomp across the hardwood to your apartment door, limbs trembling with anxiety as your sweaty palms grip onto the doorknob and turn, swinging the door open with force.

        "Ohp!" comes a feminine voice from a woman of small stature standing right in your way. Her hand is raised into a fist as if she was going to knock, a bewildered expression evident in the widening of her big brown eyes. Her cheeks, tinted pink, puff with the grin slowly growing on her face. Brown bobbed hair bounces as she tilts her head at you, fist coming undone for a slight wave. "A-Am I late? I hope I didn't disturb you!"

        The tension in your body loosens, immense confusion overpowering your self-loathing for the time being. Who the hell... you've never met let alone seen this woman before. She's rather ordinary in appearance, dressed modestly in a pair of beige capris, blue t-shirt and yellow zip-up sweatshirt; an umbrella dangles from her other arm. You'd even say she's pretty cute if you weren't trying to figure out who she is and what she's doing at your apartment. She doesn't have a clipboard, pamphlet,  or any kind of product in her hands, so she isn't selling or advertising as far as you can tell. A new neighbor maybe? It's not often you get fellow squatters around these parts, humanity is few and far in between here.

        You stare at her blankly, neither of you saying a word as she audibly releases a nervous gulp, smile persisting. The silence starts becoming egregiously awkward, prompting you to speak.

        "Uhm... hi?" you start, noticing how her eyes sparkle, "what are you doing here?"

        Although you could've been a little nicer, she doesn't appear bothered by your question, "O-Oh! I didn't even introduce myself!" she clears her throat, digging a hand into her pocket and pulling out some kind of card. Extending her arm out, you hesitantly take what you now see is official identification, "Class-C Rank 385*, the underwater hero, Swim! I'm your Happy Corps. advocate!"

        You immediately deadpan at the information, suddenly very annoyed your plans go to ruin again. Of course she's from that obnoxious hero program, why else? You almost forgot about it, too and probably could've avoided it altogether if you had woken up a little bit earlier. Fuck. You resist the urge to slap a hand over your face, "I wasn't notified."

        Swim's features lace with concern, "Oh... I tried to call you, but it went straight to voicemail... I'm sorry."

        She frowns as if that was somehow a failure on her part, but admittedly your phone is more than likely dead. And technically the information booklet you received at the hospital did explain your assigned hero would appear within the week. You guess you didn't think you'd see one so soon.

        Christ, look at her. Her shoulders are slumping in disappointment, brown hues averting to the ground. It's really not her fault she unknowingly interrupted a goddamn suicide attempt, although there's a possibility she could be relieved by that information if you disclosed that to her... Anyway, your guilty conscience isn't going to let you turn her away now. You don't know how far she travelled just to be here and do whatever it is she feels obligated to do. You're not exactly personable, but it's not in your nature to be unhospitable to someone who was expecting to see you despite your current circumstances. The least you can do is invite her inside (and maybe hop yourself in for a quick shower while you get some tea boiling).

        "I can leave and try again tomorrow, or we can see if another hero would like to fill in! I'm truly sorry for my negligence. There's definitely more I could have done!" Wow, she's really taking this personally when she... did literally nothing other than her job. Still, her dedication to your comfort is admirable, even if it's what she's supposed to do. That will more than likely change with time when she comes to know how insufferable you truly are.

        "No, it's okay," your response snaps her head back up to meet your eyes, "i-it's my bad. My phone is off. Come in."

        "Really?!" her excitement takes you off guard as she hops forward, grasping onto one of your hands with both of hers, startling you as the discomfort of her close proximity to you creeps up your spine, "Oh thank you so much! I promise you won't regret it!"

        It's gonna be a long day.

        Your shower was agonizingly short, and finding a pair of clean clothes was difficult at best. Gently used sweatpants and a hoodie were the only things you could dig up that didn’t reek with body odor. Usually Satoru would help lug your clothes to the laundromat downtown, though you’ve been sparingly asking for his help recently, hence the buildup of dirty fabric cluttering the floor of your bathroom. You hardly go out as it is for necessities, and you always feel like you bother him too much for things you should be able to do on your own.

        You brushed your teeth for the first time in two weeks and used some deodorant that’s been sitting in your cabinet for a while, completely unopened. Now that you’re fresh, total embarrassment washes over your mind as you think about Satoru having to put up with your stench for so long, and he never mentioned it once. You’re not optimistic enough to hope he wasn’t aware, but he had the decency to stick around regardless. He’s such a good person... you really don’t deserve him.

        You don’t bother to dry your hair with a towel, it’ll do that on its own throughout the day. You did the bare minimum and bathed. Now to go out and face your guest. Exiting the bathroom, you spot Swim sitting patiently with her legs tucked underneath of her. The teapot on your stove is steaming, just in time for tea to be served. You check your phone (after giving it a bit of a charge) to see Swim did indeed call you multiple times and left a voicemail, plus a good morning text from Satoru. Not responding would worry him more, so you shoot back a reply, telling him your “hero advocate” is here with you now. You don’t bother to check if your other so-called “friend” responded to you, he doesn’t like texting. You feel stupid for even trying. Best not to dwell on it, for now you’re going to take this tea to the living room and get the introductions out of the way.

        Swim hasn’t said much since you invited her in. Your apartment is thankfully semi-clean and there’s no smell as far as you know. She’s thankful when you set the tea down in front of her, telling her to help herself to however much she wanted. She’s still smiling and you don’t understand it. Isn’t this program kinda depressing in itself, going to houses of people with mental health issues and witnessing every agonizing moment of their lives? Heroes aren’t mental health professionals, shouldn’t they take some kind of course first? The pamphlet only mentioned “qualified volunteers” were picked and that’s hardly assuring. You’ll probably pose this question to her, hopefully she'll have some insight that will satiate your curiosity.

        "Hope you, uh, don't mind if I put the t.v. on," you say, pressing the power button the remote, "I kinda need some background noise."

        She shakes her head, "Not at all! I heard it's a comfort thing for some people. I get it." She's so nice. Why is she so nice? You're a complete stranger to her.

        You discard the thought, flipping through any channel that isn't the news or one of those aggravatingly corny Amai Mask romance flicks. They've been playing them constantly lately, more proof the universe is out to make a fool of you. The absolute disgust you hold for that man is unconditional - he could save a busload of children and find a way to make the act entirely about his narcissistic self-obsession. Plus his acting is subpar in general; he's attractive and that's all people really care about. It makes you ill thinking about, just another reason this world is going to shit. You finally find a channel with a calming nature documentary, good enough to not be distracting.

        "Wow!" Swim exclaims, lips hovering over her teacup. Grabbing your attention, you whip your head in her direction. She continues, "This matcha is so good! Where do you get it?"

        You... what? You have a hard time believing she's being genuine, "From the... convenience store? Down the street?"

        She doesn't falter, taking another sip and savoring it, "Then I guess you make it just right!"

        No way she's being for real. This is awkward. You feel awkward. Doesn't she feel awkward? You desperately want to tell her to quit bullshitting, yet your instincts are screaming at you to absolutely NOT do that. Fiddling with the drawstrings of your hoodie, you avoid direct eye contact with her as best you can, focusing on the untouched teacup you have on your side of the chabudai.

        "So like... why did you become a hero?" It's the only question that comes to mind that doesn't sound aggressive, at least to you. You can be pretty blunt, often coming across as insensitive to people who aren't familiar with your mannerisms, which is basically everyone. Satoru deals with the main brunt of your attitude, even on a good day. It's amazing how he manages to keep his spirits up in your presence.

        Swim takes another sip of her matcha, "Well, I wanted to help people! I know I don't look like much," honestly, yeah she looks normal compared to most other heroes, "but that's only because my costume isn't finished! I've been a lifeguard ever since I was a teenager though, so I'm really good at helping people trapped in water."

        So she figured she could put that skill to better use as an official hero? Her rationale doesn't make much sense but you won't question it. It's admirable in its own way you suppose. Doesn't explain what she's doing here, in your apartment, trying to "help" you in whatever way she's supposed to.

        "Then why are you doing-" you gesture your hands around, "all this? With me? Doesn't that keep you from performing your, uh, hero duties?" No sense in dragging the conversation without getting to the meat of the topic first.

        Her eyes soften, capturing yours with their sincerity as she sets her cup back down onto its saucer, "There's more than one way to help people, I believe. It's not all about saving you from danger... I also want to be there for those who need a friend. This felt like a good opportunity for that."

        Huh.

        You didn't really take that into consideration. You're still skeptical, after all people only ever do what they do because they pity you, or to look good for saving someone who didn't want to be saved. They don't actually care about you. Take Genos for example: what he did was just a part of his job. He's an S-Class who just happened to be in the area when you were attacked, he wouldn't have gone out of his way to rescue some nobody from a monster who was hardly a threat. You obviously put yourself in that position, the video circulating online makes that clear. You still haven't seen the damn thing, yet Satoru's tone when he spoke of it as well as the doctors who prodded you about the situation could plainly see what you were doing. Perhaps Genos didn't catch your intentions, he doesn't seem the type to care for specifics like that.

        Anyway, you've watched enough hero coverage and interviews to know who is touting an ego and who really gives a shit, and the ratio between the two weighs in favor of the former. Mumen Rider is one hero you are certain is pure of heart, even if you have a bias for him. You know Satoru too well to think any less, knowing he's constantly self-sacrificing out of empathy and always has been.

        Is Swim in the same league? It's far too early to make that judgement. You're keeping your reservations for now. Regardless, first impressions are important and she's... actually making a good one. Perhaps she can help sow the seed of doubt in your contempt for hero society. You'll think on it more.

        Sighing, you turn your head over to the hall leading to the bathroom, contemplation racking in your brain. She did say she wants to help... you'd still feel like an asshole for asking. "If you really want to help me..."

        Her pupils dilate, deep browns lighting up the room as she vigorously nods her head and clasps her hands together, "Mhm! Absolutely! Whatever you need, you can depend on me!"

        The corners of your mouth quirk up slightly. Goddamn, is her sunny disposition going to be contagious? You're a little worried it's gonna rub off on you. Your hand comes up to the back of your neck, nervously rubbing as you prepare to let yourself be a little vulnerable around someone new.

        "I do need some help getting to the laundromat..."

        "Say no more! I'm on it!"

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 1:12 pm, City Z...

            satoru

        Are you hungry? 🍙 (1:12 pm)

        I have a feeling you haven't eaten today! (1:12 pm) 

me

(1:14 pm) hey bud.

(1:15 pm) you don't have to get me anything, i'll scrounge something up.

(1:15 pm) love you though. thanks for offering.

        satoru

        Nonsense! (1:20 pm)

        You must be hungry. Let me feed you, silly! (1:20 pm)

        I can hear your stomach growling from here. I almost mistook it for a monster! xP (1:22 pm)

me

(1:23 pm) haha anyone ever tell you you'd be a great dad?

(1:25 pm) alright if you insist...

(1:25 pm) thanks toru.

        satoru

        Great! Be there approx. 10 min! (1:27 pm)

        It's no problem! Mumen Rider is on the way to rescue your tummy from hunger! (1:28 pm)

        You decided not to tell him you only just woke up. Swim stayed much longer than you anticipated yesterday, well into the evening. Admittedly, she was quite true to her word yesterday, helping you in any way she could. You went down to the laundromat together and she wouldn't let you pay (much like Satoru), she waited the whole two hours with you as well considering you don't trust your clothes won't be stolen if you left them alone. Most of that time was spent answering her wondrous questions about yourself. You tried not to reveal much; she's kind but she's not actually your friend and you don't know if she ever will be.

        You asked a few questions about her too, more out of politeness than curiosity but you learned a few interesting tidbits you'll remember. She wants to join the Blizzard Group if she ever makes it into B-Class, citing her admiration for "Miss Blizzard" after having a chance meeting with her on a train rescue. You aren't sure what good being in the Blizzard Group would do her, as you've heard some shady happenings about them in general (like being regular proponents of rookie crushing), yet you didn't have the heart to say that. In fact, you were reluctant to say anything negative about her aspirations. Swim is so... hopeful. She's working hard to pave a spot for herself as a helping-hand everyone can depend on. You think you're gonna root for her from here on out.

        At some point during one of many conversations throughout the day with her, you let it slip you were close with Satoru, using his hero name instead. She was very familiar with him apparently, having met while they were both out patrolling. She expressed immense happiness you have someone like him in your life - you couldn't help agreeing, you are glad to have him so near and dear. She did question the nature of your relationship to him, hinting at something more than friendly and you shot that down quick. You wouldn't even divulge your reasons why, that's how out-of-reach the idea was.

        It's not like you haven't thought about it before, quite the opposite actually. If Satoru didn't have such a demanding career (and you weren't so terrified of commitment... or suicidal), something more intimate could probably sprout from your friendship. He'd make a perfect boyfriend for sure; dutiful, loyal, kind and compassionate, handsome too. Someone would be lucky to capture his attention. You won't ever mention that to Swim, or Satoru himself for that matter.

        Anyway, back to the events of yesterday. Swim is very encouraging, wanting to help you be productive so she suggested deep cleaning your bathroom, and you spent the better half of the day doing that together after your laundry run. It served as a good distraction from your depression plus earning you a bit of a pride high that'll last for at least two days, or until you inevitably dirty your bathroom again. Still, you admit, you feel somewhat better today knowing it's clean. Once the long overdue chores were done, you spent the rest of the days playing games together, believe it or not. You're still trying to figure out how that happened now. Having previously assumed Swim wasn't interested in games, she proved you wrong when she spotted a copy of a popular otome hidden under your little t.v. stand. You're no stranger to dating sims, owning several of both the otome and bishojo variants. What else is a lonely, severely depressed hermit supposed to do? Man, you really must be a loser...

        And yet Swim didn't think so. She doesn't know much about gaming, mind you, but she showed interest in one of your hobbies and took enough of a liking to enjoy herself. She asked for your recommendations when making choices, inquired about characters she liked, and generally appeared enthralled with the gameplay. She stayed until past midnight. It was the most fun you've had with someone other than Satoru in a long time. You look forward to another visit, should she want to stay your advocate... you still don't expect her to. Despite all of the progress she made with you, there were more than enough times you slipped back into silent suffering. She coaxed you into talking about your feelings only once, and she didn't have much to say after listening. Who could blame her? Your state of mind is overwhelming enough for you alone. She's not a psychologist (she did take a psych class in college, the bare minimum requirement for this program, go figure) therefore she isn't able to give you any sort of professional counsel.

        Friends are not easy to come by, not only because of your inability to connect to others, but seriously... look at where the hell you live. Nobody would want to come here willingly. Though monster attacks in this area have subsided considerably in recent weeks, there are still plenty lingering about in the abandoned sector, now closed up with a flimsy padlocked gate. Luckily you hardly leave your apartment in the first place, slimming the chances of a potential run-in. When you do need to venture out for essentials, you believe you've gotten a good feel of places they tend not to wander so you can hop the fence and be on your way, sometimes taking the long way around to avoid any climbing. There are a few people as brain-rattled as you still running shops in the surrounding area so you never have to travel too far.

        In fact, now that you're thinking about it, how did Swim find her way here? Did she hop the fence too? Is there another way you're not aware of that's faster than diving through twisting alleyways? Did she encounter any monsters? You feel bad for not asking, yet remind yourself she probably would've mentioned it to you if she had. You do have her number, perhaps you'll ask.

        Enough pondering. Satoru will be here any moment, and you're still in yesterday's clothes. You forgot about the clean ones hanging in the closet until now, realizing you actually do have fresh laundry. Thanks for the help, Swim. You quickly toss on a cropped tank and baggy joggers, noting the weather is drastically different from yesterday. Your t.v. is still in the pause menu of an rpg you were playing before you passed out from exhaustion, the low hum of a soothing flute melody looping in the background. Man, you've played that game so many times you're almost tired of it. Maybe it's time to scrounge up some money for a new one... aaaaand that would require getting a job. Shit. Your bank account is probably looking pitiful.

        Shouldn't be thinking about that. A soft, familiar tapping pattern on your door followed by the doorknob clicking open signals your friend has finally arrived so in the meantime you'll put the job problem in the back of your head. Satoru's helmeted head pokes through the gap first, his merry grin lighting up the room, "Afternoon!" he greets.

        "Hey, dork. Thanks for coming by." you say, crossing the room to invite him in. He's carrying a takeout bag, the aroma of lunch filling your nostrils. You swallow the rapidly increasing salivation in your mouth. It's been a while since you felt so hungry. You move to take the bag from his hands but he snatches his arm away, earning a disappointed pout.

        Satoru chuckles, waving a finger in front of your face, "Go sit down, I'll bring everything to you." He bops your nose affectionately; you respond by scrunching your face and folding your arms over your chest, dragging your feet over to the chabudai. Not fair, 'Toru... He's gone and got you all embarrassed with his teasing. It's not something you're used to.

        "So!" he peps, shirking off his shoes at the door, then putting his gloves and helmet down on the counter, "Your hero advocate is Swim, right? She's very kind! I hope you got along alright."

        "Yeah, she's pretty nice." you hesitate before choosing your next words, trying to squash down your stubbornness to admit you needed help, "She helped me. A lot. Yesterday..." you trail off on the last word. It feels weird to say.

        Your adoring friend, who is prepping your food in colorful ceramic bowls you don't remember owning, grins wider at the information. "That's wonderful to hear! What kinds of things did you do together?"

        "Well, we uh, (ahem) cleaned the bathroom together. And got my laundry done. And... played some games."

        He beams, clearly excited by your words, "I can't wait to see the bathroom! I bet you did a good job!"

        "I-I'm not a little kid, you know..." You act like you don't want the praise, but secretly you're reveling in it. It's nice when he strokes your ego, especially in times you know you deserve it at least a little. You and Swim really did work hard cleaning up that mess.

        "You don't know how happy it makes me that you had a good day. And it sounds like you got a lot done while making a new friend in the process!"

        "Pfffft, I wouldn't go that far. Like, at all. We're not really friends..."

        "Not yet!" Satoru winks. You let the conversation end there; you're flustered enough as it is.

        He spends more time in the kitchen than planned, though this can be forgiven thanks to his accommodating nature leading him to brew some tea. He's always going above and beyond - it's a little overwhelming, however still appreciated. As soon as everything is set in front of you, you waste no time in scarfing down deliciously hot soba, stuffing as much as you can inside your mouth. It takes some self-restraint to ignore Satoru's precious laughter and "I told you so" commentary. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Maybe he was right about you being hungry, so what.

        A bit of time goes by in an unusual silence. It bothered you so much you'd taken a small break from filling your stomach to change the t.v. back to your usual broadcast picks, happening upon a familiar children's show. It's an old rerun of Justice Man, an episode you've probably seen a million times. A crab monster had been attacking folks who came out to sea, mostly fisherman or litterers, sometimes beachgoers. The first half of the episode is mostly the crab monster terrorizing as Justice Man seeks out two other heroes to help in his efforts to expense justice, then an exaggerated fight plays out ending in the crab monster's defeat. The episode will end with Justice Man and company finding the crab monster's eggs; whatever their fate becomes is implied to be up to the reader. You always liked to think they spared them, but most people would disagree.

        Something clicks in your head while staring at the t.v., some kind of vague memory coming back to you in flashes. There's a playground, a bunch of school children around your age populate around the monkey bars while you watch afar from the swing set. Did they ever ask you to play? You don't remember, much of your childhood is blocked out by trauma. This scene, though, is so vivid it's like it's happening all over again. A boy with sharp white hair and piercing yellow eyes, always picked to be the monster without much of a choice in the matter. He's naïve, friendly, desiring companionship. He reminds you of a wolf pup, small and vulnerable.

        “Why can’t I be Justice Man this time?” His question is desperate - he knows the answer already. He won’t like it. After all, he’s learned a valuable lesson through all of this torment: the popular always win, and the hated always lose. You know this well too.

        Another boy, making himself out to be some bastardized half-wit version of Justice Man flaunting around like a peacock goes to kick the other boy in the face, but he dodges rather effortlessly. “Justice Man” is offended by the reaction, angered even.

        “Why do you keep doing that!"

        The wolf boy clenches his fingers, casting a troubled expression, “I don’t want to get hurt anymore!” 

        "But I'm the hero and you're the monster! I'm supposed to beat you up!"

        It's like this every day. "Justice Man" wants to play hero and invites the wolf to play under the guise of friendship and pretend fighting, and instead he uses it as an excuse to beat him to a pulp. He gets his friends to hold the "monster" boy down as he pummels him over and over again. They all laugh at his pleas to stop, his question as to why they do this to him, what is it about him that makes them hate him?

        You watched from afar just as you did then. When they were bored, they cruelly left him there to grovel and cry in the dirt, fists balled and skin roughed by the dryness of the earth. It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve this. You stood from the swings, caution in your steps as you approached the beaten and bloodied boy with an outstretched hand, offering to pull him from the ground. You asked him if he was okay, how badly he was hurt, if he wanted some band-aids from your backpack.

        He slapped your hand away.

        Amber orbs and furrowed brows glare at you with malice.

        Why didn't you stop them?

        Because you're a fucking coward.

        "You know," Satoru strikes up conversation as he pokes his chopsticks around his meal. He snaps you from your daze, whipping your head around to fix your gaze on him. Christ, what the hell was that just now? You blink a few times to get your bearings, trying to tune in to whatever your friend had to say, "I ran into an acquaintance on my way here. I didn't know you lived so close to Saitama! It makes me feel better knowing he's around."

        You're still processing that jump backwards in time, thoroughly bewildered by the repressed memory. You don't understand, your previous reviewings of that episode has never done that to you before. What could've possibly brought that on? And shouldn't you be more concerned about it? It's a strange sensation, not having a clue as to who that wild-haired boy is yet there’s a familiarity to him, as if that isn't your only encounter. You're trying to recall him, but your elementary days are blended and meshed together to the point they might as well have never happened. You can't even dig up the name of the school you went to. You're not sure if you ever knew that boy's name either.

        Shaking your head, you shove the memory as far back into place as you can. You're still feeling disoriented, yet want to give Satoru full attention, "Sai.. Sai-what-ah?"

        "Saitama! He's a hero too. He's a few buildings down from here."

        "Ah."

        "Mhm! I'm surprised you haven't met him yet. He's always out and about." Heh, and you're the opposite, so that would explain it.

        "What's he look like? Might've seen him at some point."

        "Hmmm," he taps a finger to his chin, "I would say he looks pretty normal, except when he's wearing that bright yellow jumpsuit of his."

        You shrug, "Doesn't ring a bell."

        "Well, maybe you will soon! I told him you live around here. He's incredibly strong. He saved my life."

        You're quiet again, staring down at your meal. Guilt is pacing around in your stomach for not caring much for this conversation. Of course you're pleased to know Satoru didn't die thanks to this Saitama fellow, but he's here with you now which hardly makes it important at this moment. Truthfully, no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the wolf boy's angry hues keep coming back whenever you blink. It's eating at your conscience, feeding your self-loathing in ways you haven't felt before. You evert your eyes to your friend across from you, finding any new distraction you can, whatever it will take to stop festering this old wound.

        Satoru hasn't really touched his food the whole time, seemingly lost in reflection with a thoughtful smile. The desire to pick at his brain creeps into your own, quelling the acute turmoil racking around your head. He speaks again, "You know, I... I know I say this a lot, but I'm still worried about you living here by yourself."

        That works wonders, and not in a good way. Irritation erupts in the form of muscle twitches in your thumbs, knowledge of where this is going. It's hard not to roll your eyes, opting to narrow them to repress the urge. You don't need another lecture, you don't want him to beg you to come and live with him again. "Dude, come on, is now really the time for this? Let's just eat-"

        "P-Please let me finish!" he startles you with his interruption. He's never done that before so you relent, placing your palms flat on the table. "I understand. You don't want me to worry, and I'm grateful you take my feelings into consideration by trying to assure me you'll be alright on your own. But I... I can't really help it."

        He pauses again, reaching across the chabudai to carefully cover your hand with his, the warmth of his palm comforting against your skin. All traces of vexation vanish suddenly from your body with this act of human contact, relaxing shoulders you were unaware were tensed. With one touch, you're able to really perceive his unconditional care, a sliver of internal humiliation heating your derma. You release a shaky breath when his brown eyes shining through the thick lenses of his glasses. "I hope you don't mind that I consider you my closest friend, [Name]. I don't ever want you to go away. I don't think I could live with myself if I let that happen." 

        Despite having been aware of his feelings before, there's an aspect of shocking revelation twisting around your insides. Out of everyone he chooses to hang around with, you're the one being prioritized. Your existence is so crucial, so important to him that he puts you above everyone else. It's... scary, only just now beginning to fully understand the weight you carry in his life, the responsibility he believes he has for your well-being. And how deeply you might return that sentiment. He audibly gulps, searching for the words to say next, "I want you to..."

        "... Want to live."

        Satoru's breath hitches in his throat after you finish his thought for him, sensing the melancholy energy radiating from your form. Your other hand rises to sit on top of his, fingers attentively stroking with the gentleness only a loved one can provide. "I know, Satoru. But I... I'm not there." He frowns, though he knows that's not the end of it. He allows you to finish, "Not yet, at least. I don't know if I'll ever be."

        A heavy exhale drawls out of him with relief. You're not certain as to why, raising a brow curiously as a dry chuckle escapes him. He tethers his digits through his hair, fingertips slowly rubbing his scalp, "That's... progress."

        "Progress?" you ask, unable to help the smirk pulling at your lips.

        He elaborates, a full grin gracing his features, "You're questioning it now. I'm glad."

        "O-Oh," you're flooding with uncertainty again but it would do you no good to overthink it. You mumble out an "I dunno" and "maybe". It's good enough for him at least, evident by the sunshine in his disposition so perhaps he'll worry a little less from now on. He knows you won't get better in a day and the worst is probably yet to come, but little moments like this where your resolve to perish cracks with doubt are bittersweet and worth cherishing.

        Quietness bounces around your apartment a few seconds more, the television volume barely reaching average levels of hearing until someone's stomach rumbles with such a roar it makes you jolt upright, straightening your hunched back as your eyelids widen in bewilderment. That definitely wasn't you, you would have been able to feel that quaking all the way up your esophagus.

        It's Satoru's turn to be sheepish, his cheeks dusting an adorable pink as he rushes to wrap his arms around his midsection, "Oops! I guess I'm the one who's hungry now!"

        He can't help lighting up at the great bellyful of laughter coming from your throat, pure adoration seeping further into his his heart.

Chapter Text

Friday, 10:22am, City M...

        "That interview was a fucking disaster."

        "I don't think so! It sounds like it went pretty well."

        "How would you know? You weren't in there with me."

        "I... kinda had my ear pressed to the door. Sorry."

        You can't really blame Swim for eavesdropping, she's the one trying to get you out and applying for jobs. After several days of wallowing in self-pity and grueling about having to rely so much on the charity of others, Swim finally encouraged you to leave the house to go looking for a new source of income. You've been extremely anxious about it for a multitude of reasons your advocate shot down one by one. You're not friendly? She begs to differ, she's enjoyed your company so far. You're not a hard worker? That's bullshit, she saw your work ethic when the two of you were cleaning the bathroom. The job is going to make you more miserable? Not if you find something you like! Good luck with that, you told her, you don't like anything noteworthy.

        Except video games.

        And so here you are, in one of the largest cities on Earth, hopping around whatever game shop you can find to ask if they're hiring. three out of the five weren't, one gave you an application while the associate whispered "you don't wanna work here", and the one you just left was so desperate they brought you in for an interview on the spot. The manager gave you a strange vibe too, like he has one too many of skeletons in the closet. Dude was really sweaty. You think his shop was a front for the mob, because you could've sworn you saw Don-fucking-Pacino's goons hanging around. So yeah, you're not taking that job. Sorry, guy.

        "We'll find you something. I'm sure " your companion assures, her optimism souring your mood considerably. You pull the drawstrings on your hood to hide the visible embarrassment plastered across your visage. You're never gonna find a fucking job. This is another point for the pros of dying, you wouldn't have to work your ass off to maintain a life you don't even want.

        Not only that, but you're extra moody after the past few nights being absolute hell trying to stay asleep, waking in a cold sweat with the wolf boy constantly invading your dreams. You wish your mind had stayed closed to that memory you're not even sure is real. It could be a cruel trick planted by a sadistic god for all of your days spent leeching around as a useless parasite. These dreams are totally unrelated to what happened, too, sometimes the situation is reversed or different in some way. Last night you dreamt you had stepped in and helped, built a friendship with him, and spent a whole sappy, sweet childhood together. If only that were the truth.

        You started thinking about what would happen if you met him now (if he exists). Would he remember you? Would he still be angry? Would you recognize him too? What would he look like? He's hard to forget with those captivating saffron hues, haunting you every chance they get. You can only hope he wouldn't have held anything against you.

        Swim tugs on your sleeve, stealing you from your trance and pointing you in the direction of an ice cream stand, "Come on, let's take a break and get something sweet!"

        You let her drag you over, not having the energy to protest against the whims of your stomach.

        satoru

        Hiya! How goes the job search?

        me

        satoru

        ^^'

        No luck, huh?

        Well, no worries. You can always keep trying.

        me

        how do you do it?

        satoru

        Pardon?

        me

        keep getting up every day.

        even when you're beat down you always get back up.

        how?

        satoru

        That's a good question!

        I see it like this:

        If I give it my all, no matter the outcome, I can always say I tried.

        And then keep trying again tomorrow until it goes right!

        If I give up now, all of my efforts will go to waste! And I never want that.

        I want everyone to see me as someone they can rely on. Someone who is there in their time of need, no matter the task. They can always trust Mumen Rider to do what's right!

        me

        so

        you have the world riding around on your shoulders

        and it's

        not a burden to you?

        it never gets overwhelming? or scary?

        satoru

        Well, actually, it does get scary. And overwhelming. Believe it or not, I have days where I feel hopeless.

        But I know I can't let it drag me down! Because in the end, even if I hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up.

        No sense in me stopping now!

        me

        have you ever thought about become a motivational speaker?

        satoru

        XDDD

        I don't think that's for me. I like taking direct action a lot more!

        But we can all make a difference in our own way.

        I think you can too! :)

        me

        thanks toru

        love you

        satoru

        No problem!

        Please let me know if you need anything else! I'll answer whenever I can!

        I believe in you!!!!

        Not everyone can say they get pep talks from Mumen Rider on a regular basis. Although he wasn't successful in lifting your spirits, he did reduce a tad of your anxiety. You needed it, especially loitering around this new game shop grasping at the courage to ask the woman at the counter if they're hiring. Swim offered to do it for you, but that would've been counterproductive. She understood and said she'd wander around the shopping strip, leaving you some time to yourself and to call her if you need her. She'd given you a nice squeeze on the shoulder for good measure, a gesture you've become accustom to whenever you're together.

        You're huddled in a corner (the "Shame Corner" you've dubbed it) where a lot of the dating sims have been shoved. They're organized by genre mixes, then alphabet. Some of them have rpg and action elements where you create your own avatar, others are 100% visual novels with different scenarios to choose from. Considering this is the biggest selection you've had the pleasure of scouring through amongst the different stores, naturally there's an impressive range. You wouldn't call yourself picky, but the market is oversaturated with... ugh, hero-themed otome. You tend to stay away from those, finding them especially awkward. Your only trusted friend is a hero, plus Swim could be weirded out by them too as it's obvious some of the characters on the box were inspired by popular heroes. Amai Mask has his own trilogy; that knowledge alone is nauseating.

        Skipping over the blatant fetishist bait, lolicon, and other weirdo tropes you actively avoid, your finger stops at something interesting. Taming the Beast isn't exactly any original name nor is it uncommon to find games dedicated to wooing bad boys and yanderes, but this one is totally different thanks to its fascinating box art. On the cover is a side profile of the gender ambiguous protagonist with their back pressed against a wall, and on the opposite side is... just a straight up monster. Granted, they look like a wolfman of sorts so you would assume it's a supernatural romance type of thing with a werewolf (meaning there'd be a human form) and a few other options in-game. That's not the case when you flip it over to read the back.

        "Masumi is your average college student taking life one day at a time. After a particularly long day of classes, they take a stroll through the allegedly haunted forest behind their school, though they lose their way while caught in a sudden storm. Seeking shelter anywhere they can, they come across a seemingly abandoned feudal era mansion." you read it aloud to yourself, interested in what comes next, "Desperate to get out of the rain, Masumi rushes inside only to be met with a terrifying sight: a nine foot tall wolf-like creature with large, white snarling teeth and eyes of blood red. They're paralyzed with fear until the creature speaks, interrogating Masumi's intentions. After a brief conversation, the creature, an ancient spirit now known to Masumi as 'Hideharu' allows them to stay the night in his residence. With the passage of time, Masumi comes to know Hideharu and many other supernatural residents living inside the mansion. Will our peculiar protagonist be able to tame the darkness still lingering within the beast? Or will they pursue another outside of this blossoming friendship between mortal and spirit?"

        Okay. Okay, you admit you're intrigued. You have to know if there's a market for this kind of thing, because as far as you can tell there isn't anything else like this among the thrall of dating sims before you. It's very different as opposed to other supernatural romances where the options are typically humanoid. But this? Ohoho, this is a trip and half. The price isn't bad either, ¥2,500? You have about ¥4,000 in your pocket and didn't plan on buying anything today other than more instant meals to last you a while until you get a job... maybe you could splurge a little bit.

        Hugging the box to your chest, you swiftly turn around to scuttle up to the register, keeping your head low to eliminate any chances of eye contact with other customers. You're going to grab the game, ask about a job, and leave. Hopefully there aren't any on-the-spot interviews this time, you'll grab an application and bring it back tomorrow filled with all of the necessary information. You're mentally preparing yourself for the strange look the clerk will give you for picking up this game, fully aware of your degenerate status.

        What you didn't expect was to bump into anything, especially another person - the chest of a very tall and brooding person. With your luck, of course, you just so happen to do exactly that.

        "Whoa. Sorry. Didn't see you there." comes their deep, masculine voice, causing you to sweat, swallow a thick lump in your throat and look up. "You okay?"

        Wow, you don't know what you were expecting. This guy is huge. Six feet tall, broad shoulders, defined facial features with bright blue eyes, blonde hair slicked back, his forehead shadowed by a red hat. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled over the hat, which is kinda suspicious but it's none of your business. You nod your head rapidly, sucking down on your bottom lip, mumbling about being fine, that you're sorry, that it was your fault for not looking where you were going. That should've been the end of it. Instead, he points down at the box snug tight against your torso.

        "So you like those kind of games too?" he sounds kind of relieved despite his intimidating aura. He must've spotted you hovering around the dating sims to know what type of game it is. You nod again, unable to say much of anything to that. He smiles a bit, "Do you have any recommendations? You see, I- uh, my sister... she really likes those too."

        "U-Uhm!" you manage to croak, feeling a chill crawl down your spine, "I d-dunno if, heh, she would like this one. It's a little- it's really- it's unconventional, so..." This conversation is stirring anxiety in your core. You need to get out of here.

        "It can't be as bad as Doki Doki Sisters." he snorts, sneering off to the side. You're almost offended by the comment, furrowing your brows at the comparison. That anxiety? It promptly ceases its churning, transforming into a deeply seeded repulsion. How he could even bring that disgusting game up so casually has you asking yourself a million questions. And he said his sister is the one playing these games? Shouldn't he be worried about that?

        "Ugh, gross. I'd call this superior as opposed to that lolicon trash." You meant every word of that harsh statement.

        And in an instant, the air around him completely changes as he grasps the rim of his ballcap and pulls it down above his eyes. Your senses are picking up all kinds of flags, the scariest one being the sound of a hammering drum thumping faster and faster. "Y-yeah, right. What kinda sicko would be into that stuff..."

        There's something off about the way he said those words, how his body seized at your response, the adjustment of his cap. The stutter and shift in his tone are completely telling on him. It's almost like... like he's the one playing these games, and not this "sister" of his. In fact, you think it's safe to assume he doesn't have a sister at all.

        ...

        Alright, nope. You've had enough. If your hatred wasn't obvious before, it definitely is now as your nose scrunches with the utter abhorrence you're displaying. This guy totally just lied to you to hide the fact he's into lolis and that's incredibly suspect. People say it's a general rule not to kinkshame out of respect for you fellow weirdos - to hell with them, you'll shame lolicon for the rest of your meaningless life if you have to. You don't care if it makes you a hypocrite. Foot fetishes, monster fuckers, extreme bdsm, whatever; those are relatively harmless. But lolicon? No way. You'll never associate with someone interested in that absolute landfill of a genre.

        "I have to go now." Side-stepping the stranger, you leave him standing in his sweaty indignity. He doesn't say anything else, understanding he's been caught in his deception. You at least have the decency not to blab about it despite believing he deserves to be publicly disgraced. You'll offer mercy only this once and never again.

        With one awkward interaction out of the way, you're ready to get this next one over with. Honestly, after what you had to deal with, you can't find it in you to care about what the clerk thinks as you put Taming the Beast down on the counter. You're digging the yen out of your pocket as she picks up the box. Unexpectedly, her eyes sparkle in delight.

        "Oh! Taming the Beast! I love this game! Did you know there's a sequel coming next year?"

        The next words come out of your mouth without a second thought.

        "Are you guys hiring?"

        "Absolutely! Are you interested in applying?"

        Five minutes later, you're waltzing out of the store to track down Swim, riding a wonderful dopamine high, a brand new game, and a new sense of purpose. You have a phone interview with the boss tomorrow at 11am, so as far as you're concerned, you have this in the bag.

        You spot her waving you down in a sea of people, and you smile at her. Within moments she has her arms around your shoulders, pressing against you in a celebratory embrace, giggling on about how she knew you could do it.

        You let her hold your hand on the way home.

        Somewhere else in City M...

        A door slams heavily against the frame of an apartment, the owner hyperventilating as his clammy palms struggle to lock the deadbolt. He trembles uncontrollably, struggling to shrug his sweatshirt off of his shoulders and throwing his ballcap to the side. Sweat pools through the neck of his shirt while his back slides down the door, landing his bottom harshly against the hardwood.

        "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit..." he murmurs over and over, clutching onto his chest as his heart pounds with panic. he can't fucking believe that happened to him. Why does he have the worst luck in the world? No, the universe? Why can't he live his life without bluffing and lying his way through? Why did a goddamn stranger (of all people) at the game shop (OF ALL PLACES) have to be so perceptive and see right through him?

        On wobbly limbs, he crawls across the floor to get to his laptop, immense fright quaking throughout his body. He shakily opens the browser and types the following into the search engine, unprepared for what he might bear witness to,

        's-class king doki doki sisters'

        The browser loads, searching its infinite database for anything related to that string of words.

        'no results found'

        He refreshes the page. Again. Again. Again. Still, nothing.

        He heaves a heavy sigh of relief, collapsing backwards onto the floor and shutting his eyelids tight. He rests an arm over his forehead, exhausted from his panicked trek home.

        Great. The first cute person King actually gets the courage to talk to, and you end up silently calling him out for his grossly misunderstood interests. If he ever runs into you again, he might actually collapse from cardiac arrest. But god, you were so cute. He saw you exploring the dating sims so intently that he was actually kind of excited to try to talk to you, not having actively seen anyone else browsing them before. And you were so adorably nervous about picking up Taming the Beast, he thought it would be easier to play everything cool and see where it goes. But he ruined it by lying, like he always does. He wants to apologize so, so badly. If only the rumors about him being a time traveler were true...

        Fuck, why does he feel like such a creep?

        Ugh.

        He needs a fucking nap.

Chapter Text

        Saturday, 12:45pm, City Z...

        Something unlucky - or is your perception of it unlucky? - stirs in the atmosphere today. Typically you are one to exercise more caution than most, but today has your senses twisted. You know when your gut instinct is telling you change is near, and you’re hesitant to follow through with that. You’re quite slow to embrace a new routine, still getting used to the time you’re spending outside and with Swim. That’s part of the reason a job scared the living shit out of you, it disrupts your “normal” regardless of how unhealthy that living was. However uncomfortable, it was familiar.

        You want to feel more optimistic considering your phone interview this morning went very well, guaranteeing you the job. You were up late last night playing your new game and clonked out around three, but you somehow managed not to sleep through your alarm and drank some chamomile to still your nerves, which surprisingly worked. The boss wants you to come in for a trial shift on Monday. You’ve been lazing about your apartment ever since the call ended, staring at the ceiling and thinking about all of the potential sticky situations that could spiral your life out of control again. Satoru and Swim both told you not to think about it like that, offering perspectives in which this will work out in your favor. Imagining some type of stability brings a little bit of comfort. A paycheck means real groceries, getting your own wifi router instead of piggybacking off of the convenience store just within reach, and possibly saving up for an actual apartment in a safe neighborhood. A simple income could really give you more opportunities for betterment.

        Pulling yourself up from the cool of the floor, you reach for your worn wallet resting on the chabudai. You flip it open to reveal a bit of money Satoru had handed to you last night after treating you to dinner. He gave it to you to treat yourself today, buy new clothes or some food or whatever you wanted. At first you refused it, claiming you're undeserving of his selflessness though he insisted you take it. Swim, who had tagged along, pitched in a bit of her own yen. Perhaps you should treat yourself for a little victory like this with a homecooked meal. That does require going to the store considering your cupboards are nearly bare save for a corner stacked with instant meals. They're starting to make your stomach hurt anyway...

        A tapping at the window tears your attention from your thoughts, sitting up from your position on the floor. [E/c] hues fix themselves on familiar fuzzy creature pressing her nose against the glass, her claws leaving little scratch marks and eyes pleading to be let inside. You can't help the smile spreading on your features as you stand and approach, silently ushering her to step back for you to open the window.

        "Hey cutie," you greet, feeling the wetness of her nose pressing up into the palm of your hand, "haven't seen you in a bit."

        She stares up at you curiously while your hand reaches out to stroke her striped tail, an action you've learned she really enjoys. After a few more caresses of her fur, she hops into your apartment in search for food, strolling over to a ceramic dish. She sits in front of it expectantly, ever so patient to be fed. You chuckle, simply glad to see she's still hanging around.

        "Yeah, yeah. I'm comin'."

        You consider her visit a good omen. Maybe today won't be so bad.

        Genos finds himself unable to focus this past week. His mind keeps going elsewhere.

        At this moment, he's scouring each aisle of the grocery store to pick up some items for his Sensei after an intense battle against some kind of radioactive goop monster terrorizing the citizens of City Y. Being the only hero in the area able to withstand the demon level threat's fatal pulses of radioactivity, he fulfilled his duty in wiping its existence from this earth before it could do any real harm. He must admit, he wasn't expecting the creature to be so resilient. Every time Genos unleashed a fury of decimating punches, the goop monster would simply rebuild itself, taunting the cyborg with vulgar insults. Fortunately for Genos, he isn't one to be intimidated by obscene words, and he quickly found out it was not immune to fire. It was a mere pile of radioactive ash when Hero Association agents fitted with heavy-duty hazmat suits quarantined the area and gathered up the remains for research.

        Ultimately, despite the small relief he felt for keeping the civilians safe, Genos still felt it was a waste of his time and didn't bother sticking around for debriefing. He wants to get the shopping done as soon as possible. His Sensei, who is currently out on an assignment, desires to make katsudon for a late lunch and Genos is more than happy to fetch the ingredients for him.

        It's too bad he keeps getting distracted. He's catching himself replaying an event from last Saturday, something that should be insignificant to him yet persists in his brain like a parasite. It was a below-average civilian rescue from a pathetic excuse for a threat. It wasn't even a reported incident when he happened upon the scene, he was just in the right place at the right time for extermination.

        The creature called itself the "Chloroform Cloth", a specific and fitting name for such a laughably awful monster. Genos couldn't take something like that seriously if he tried. He even contemplated on whether or not using his Incinerate cannon was considered overkill, since it immediately burst into flames and crumbled to dust with a pitiful squeal. It was one of the quickest and least satisfying jobs he's ever done. Most citizens had cleared the immediate area surrounding the creature, some standing off to the side with their phones at the ready to capture pictures of an S-Class in action. Yes, it was a fast and clean job. There was just one factor he's been hanging onto.

        You, the lone person deliberately standing in the way.

        Genos knew you were there and took the necessary precaution for you to not be caught in the blast radius of his signature move. His environmental analyses are near perfect in terms of timing and measurement, so there was a slim to none chance you would be a casualty. But a week later, he's still wondering why you needed saving.

        Everyone else could easily avoid the cloth, so why were you just... letting that abomination hungrily hover over you? In the aftermath of the execution, you were on your knees, tearful and trembling, grasping onto your forearms. It was surely an unusual sight in the midst of the clearing smoke. He'd examined you for injuries and found none. He took trauma into consideration; maybe you've never encountered a monster before and the shock froze you in place, or you've already inhaled so much of the cloth's chloroform that it buzzed your brain into submission. That was only speculation on his part until your glazed [e/c] orbs met his calculating golds. Something else was running through your mind, something undeterminable. Your mouth gaped like a fish, voice croaked and stuttering over words struggling to come out before your eyelids fluttered closed. You must've overwhelmed yourself into exhaustion. He brought you to a hospital afterwards, hoping they could find what he could not.

        Amidst your mumblings, Genos could make out one word still swimming around in his head. "Why?"

        Now, he won't deny he may be naïve, but he's no fool. From his short time as a hero, he's already saved countless lives, yet not a single person has ever asked that question after being rescued. The most logical solution he could come to judging by your inquiry, paired with your body language and behavior he witnessed, is that, well, it's almost like you didn't want to be saved. The thought troubles him more than he's willing to admit. He's no stranger to depression and the inherent feelings of inadequacy that come with. But to be so, so low to willingly give yourself to an end that surely would've been excruciatingly painful... you must be very far from okay.

        It's not like him to be worried about a civilian, yet he couldn't help himself. He didn't have time to stick around after dropping you off to the emergency room, much less visit the next day. He'd had several duties to attend to. And when he did find time days later, it was already too late; you'd been discharged without any complications. He should've known they wouldn't keep you very long. He did learn your name, though.

        Genos rounds the corner of the produce department for what felt like the fourth time. He's been walking around it for the past ten minutes thinking about you. Do you have family? Friends? Any kind of support network? A home? His curiosity has gotten the better of him. He'd like to speak with you if the opportunity ever arose.

        He reaches into his pocket to dig out a pristinely folded piece of paper, rereading its contents over again. He double-checks Sensei's grocery list to see if it matches the contents of his basket. There are a few packaged snacks he has yet to grab as well as scallions from the produce section, a reminder to why he's been looping around the area. People are staring at him, confusion and recognition in their faces. He should hustle before they starting approaching him.

        He picks up the freshest looking bunch of scallions he can find and sticks them into his basket. All that’s left are the snacks, so he makes his way across the store to a colorful aisle full of the least-nutritionally conscious treats in the store. Sensei didn’t specify what he wanted, but Genos knows him well enough by now to grab what he prefers. There are two high school aged girls a few feet away from him, giggling and pointing with flushed cheeks, whispering comments about his appearance. He’s used to this by now, such is the life of an S-Class. It’s easier to ignore than the cringe-inducing fanclub letters he receives on a daily basis. He lost count of how many he’s disintegrated. Still, he doesn’t want anyone brave enough to approach him to have that opportunity, so he quickly snatches up the snacks and speed-walks to the checkout.

        “That’ll be ¥6,500.” speaks the young woman at the register to a familiar looking individual ahead of Genos. They nod, digging into the pocket of their sweatpants and shuffling around for their money. They pull out a wad of paper yen and some coins, counting out all that was in their palm. Genos, observant as usual, notices they’re short by ¥30 before they can finish counting.

        “Shit,” they murmur, raising a hand to rub their fingers against the back of their scalp, embarrassed, “sorry. Lemme, uh, check my bag.”

        Dangling over their shoulder is a small, cartoon frog backpack whose mouth unzips a little compartment in the front. They fiddle around for several agonizing seconds, and Genos watches as the color drains from their face at the anxious revelation they don’t have the extra yen to cover the rest of the cost. They notice him waiting patiently from their peripheral vision and turn to apologize for the wait, laughing nervously while they check the larger compartment of their backpack, but Genos is immediately taken back by exactly who the person in front of him is.

        He wasn’t expecting them to be you.

        At all.

        What a strange coincidence. He's sort of convinced it's fate.

        He's not sure why it took him so long to realize you were ahead of him, or in the store for that matter. Granted, you don't stand out much especially covered head to toe in baggy black and gray clothing, but you have quite a discernable face. You didn’t seem to recognize him, though. That, or you’re pretending not to. Your heart rate speaks the latter, considering it started pounding as soon as you looked at him, desperate to avoid eye contact. He clearly caught you off guard, your body tensing from trying to keep the interaction casual. You look more like someone very poorly attempting to let on you don't know him. Just two strangers in line at the grocery store running their afternoon errands, and one of them is short on funds.

        "Just another minute, I'm real sorry about this..." You're checking every pocket you have - your hoodie, your sweats, each crevice of your backpack - hell, you bent down to check if any was tucked into your sneakers. No dice. You simply didn't have the yen to cover the rest of the cost. Your shoulders slump, dejected. You apologize to the employee again, sifting through one of the grocery bags for an item to put back, though you're taking up a considerably amount of time deciding. You must've really wanted, or needed, everything you picked up.

        Genos can tell the cashier is growing impatient. A line of six other people started to form behind him and he hears someone a few people back rapidly tapping their foot. At this point, it’s obvious you won’t have the extra change, so he interjects without any second thought, "I have an extra ¥30."

        He doesn't understand the absolute look of dread crossing your countenance when he casually slides the yen across the counter. You’re mortified by his generosity, drops of sweat collecting on your temple. Your trembling hand extends out towards the money, but it halts halfway, stilling in the air until dropping limp to your side. You gulp and try to collect yourself, "Y-You really don't... uh-uhm, have to do that."

        "Just take the damn money! We don't got all day!" shouts an annoyed man behind Genos, too close to his ear. He whips his head around to shoot the man a menacing glare that practically seals his big mouth shut. While he understands the frustration, it hardly warranted such rudeness.

        "F-Fuck..." you mumble, bottom lip quivering. You cast a brief glance at Genos, then your groceries, then Genos again, "are you sure?"

        "I insist." he responds. The cashier doesn't wait for you to say anything, shoving the yen into the register and pushing your bags further towards you, not bothering with a receipt. You hook them around your wrist, quietly thank Genos, then scuffle out of the store as quickly as you can with your head hanging low.

        He watches your figure disappear around the corner as he makes his own purchase. The cashier is much more chipper with him, her deep scowl replaced with a cheery grin and bouncing off praises he couldn't care less about. He won't miss the chance to talk to you, seeing as you've been invading his thoughts much too often all this week for him not to want answers to all of his questions. As soon as he's all paid up, Genos leaves the store without another word to catch up to you.

        Thankfully, you didn't get too far ahead dragging your feet across the pavement. Your hood is pulled over your head as far as it can go. Genos doesn't usually pity others, but he can make an exception for you. You must be really down on your luck. He speed walks towards you, only slowing down once he's matched your pace, keeping some modicum of space between you from behind. You don't make any move to check over your shoulder for him. Surely you heard him approaching you, right? He's not exactly silent thanks to the weight of his metal body pulling down on his boots with every step, loudly clacking against the concrete sidewalk.

        His steps become a little wider in order to keep stride right beside you, tilting his body forward for a better look at your concealed head since he can't see much from your hood touching your cheek. There is a wire dangling around your neck, leading down to your hoodie pocket, likely connected to your phone. He can just make out some very loud yet muffled music. Ah, headphones. A likely culprit, no wonder you didn't hear him. You're going to destroy your eardrums at those decibels.

        He's beside you unnoticed for the better half of five minutes, waiting for you to notice him. Genos doesn't have a free hand to tap you on the shoulder and stepping out in front of you is just plain desperate, plus there's a chance he'll frighten you. Your reaction to him back at the store is still very fresh in his mind. He starts to feel somewhat ridiculous, like an eager child begging for attention. He's tempted to drop the prospect of speaking to you altogether for the sake of time and his increasing irritation.

        It's not until he decides to peer forward again that he finally catches your peripheral for the second time today, and you jolt at the mere sight up him, gasping and stumbling over your feet. Your hands come out of your pockets to go to your chest, grocery bags swinging wildly around your wrists and wobbling legs struggling to get a grip on your footing, halting you in your steps. He stops too, this time ahead of you by some odd inches. Your eyes are like saucers glued to him, chest heaving after the rush of fear-induced adrenaline. A frown tugs at the corners of your mouth. So much for not scaring you...

        Genos waits for you to calm yourself, staring expressionless while you slowly, hesitantly lift a hand to pull out a single earbud. The initial shock wears down into a cautious confusion evident by the furrowing of one of your brows. The two of you stand there in awkward stillness, anticipating the other to say something.

        Once it's determined he isn't going to be speaking first, you take the first dip into forced conversation, "Uh... what's up?"

        "You're [Name]." He says bluntly, unblinking in his stare. You narrow your eyes.

        "Yyyyeeeesss?" you sound unsure and reluctant, like it's the first time someone has mentioned you by name, "Can I help you?"

        He observes your hands drifting back down and shoving themselves into your hoodie pocket. The discomfort is radiating off of you and wrapping itself around him. You don't trust him, he surmises, why is that?

        "How are you?" he inquires politely, then feels the need to elaborate. "I apologize for not following up after your discharge from the hospital. I meant to come and see you."

        Your muscles tighten at his words, a short shiver quaking your whole body as your lips part to reveal your teeth gritting from discomfort. Your body temperature has risen considerably in these last few seconds. He wonders if he said anything to make you react this way, though a refresh of his ever-scanning optics over your anxiety filled visage plus his concise deduction skills conclude that perhaps his comment about visiting you is the culprit. He shouldn't be surprised, you don't know him - but after his experience of occasional hospital visits to civilians who admire him ("for public relations", the Hero Association claims), he didn't think it would be so taboo.

        The only reason that comes to mind, other than being a complete stranger to you, is that you're not a fan of him. Oddly enough, he finds some solace in that fact. Despite this interaction being far from normal, he's never personally met a civilian who didn't put him on a pedestal. Sure, he has some jaded critics he pays little mind to, but they've never approached him. His intimidation factor helps ward off any undesirables who aren't hellbent on committing crime.

        Nevertheless, he relaxes in your presence, shoulders slumping a fraction to release some of his constant tension. Your fingers alternate between a tight clench and flex, cracking stiffened bones to relieve unease. You exhale a shaky breath, “I-I’m… fine. Thanks…? How… how are you?”

        Genos is no expert in small talk, he finds it tedious and unnecessary. But if you’re ever going to feel comfortable around him enough to satiate his curiosities about you, he’ll have to indulge in forced pleasantries. He considers asking outright for a moment as it’s clear to him you’re just trying to be polite, though he decides against as such in an effort not to overwhelm you. Hell, has he ever thought about his approach to a casual conversation so thoroughly before? He’s aware he’s blunt and honest, often brutally so. The thing is, he knows exactly what he wants to ask of you, the part he has to be careful with is assuring you he’s not a threat and he doesn’t have time to keep theorizing why you would be so cautious, especially around him.

        “I am well,” he responds, watching you nod and nervously chew on your bottom lip. “I trust you have been taking care of yourself?”

        You’re silent, save for the pounding of your heart. One of your feet unconsciously takes a step backwards against the pavement, your body language displaying immense distrust for the hero. Genos observes the slight narrowing of your eyes, but he’s unbothered by it. A low breeze passes between you, cradling the uncomfortable tension in your silent exchange of stares, that is, until you decide to open your mouth again.

        “What’s your angle here?”

        He doesn’t show his confusion as his expression is devoid of emotion, but the tension gives him away, “Pardon?”

        “Your deal. Like, why are you talking to me. What do you want.”

        He doesn’t quite understand the sudden shift to rudeness in your tone. Do you assume he has some dastardly ulterior motive? He can’t deny that he does have many questions, but it’s nothing like what you could possibly be thinking. Perhaps he was wrong in his original assessment of the situation, maybe being straight-forward from the get-go would’ve made for a better outcome. He has to consider the possibility you’ll be unwilling to answer any of his inquiries now. He makes the quick decision to bite the bullet seeing as how this interaction is already going south.

        “I wanted to ask something.”

        “Uh-huuuh… about what?”

        “You.”

        Panic returns to your features as your palms begin to clam inside your pockets. He? S-Class hero Demon Cyborg? Wants to know things about you? This has to be some kind of prank, you try to convince yourself, and yet your gut instinct insists he’s not the type to do such a thing. “I’m… I’m not…” you stutter out, searching for the words, but they’re muddled by the onset of brain fog clogging your thinking sphere. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

        He elaborates simply, “There’s something I want to know.”

        “I’m not that interesting.” you blurt out, pursing your lips immediately after. What interest could someone as important as him have in such an insignificant individual as yourself? He saves so many lives every day, people who are probably loads more worthy of his time than some degenerate who never wanted to be rescued. Nevertheless, he continues to hold an iron grip on your presence in this moment. You’ve seen how he operates, you know he can be a persistent, petulant child when he’s after something. This thought may be irrational, but you’re worried he won’t leave you be until he gets whatever information he wants from you, even if you walk away right now. The last thing you want is for him to follow you home. Imagine the amount of attention that would bring… yikes. “B-But… um… ask away.”

        He waits a moment just in case, peering into the depths of your soul with those gorgeous eyes of his, making sure he has your express consent to proceed with his potentially sensitive query. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, granting you brief reprieve from his intense gaze, then opens them again and carries on with determination.

        “That day, you asked me why.” Your shoulders tense. Your body is suddenly seering. Your breath hitches in your throat. “I want to know what you meant.”

        Your vision is growing hazy as anxiety reaches your lungs, the sensation of drowning prevalent in your aching chest. Your stomach swells with nausea, suddenly confronted with every horrible thought you’ve been working incredibly hard this past week to put aside for the sake of your sanity. You distinctly remember the looming dread, the utter hopelessness, and the immense embarrassment after the fact. Your legs are trembling and your hands retreated from your pocket to cover your mouth in a desperate attempt to gain control over your hyperventilating. Genos is incredibly aware of the distress he has caused with this topic, dropping his groceries and reaching out a hand to offer any kind of support, yet you flinch away from him. Your watering gaze turns into a thousand-yard stare at the concrete. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

        “I-I-“ you choke out, your words muffled in trying to swallow the oncoming sickness, “I hhhh-have to-! Go! Hhhhome!”

        He reaches out again, “I apologize, I didn’t mean to-“ he gently grazes the fabric of your hoodie before you turn tail and begin sprinting in the opposite direction, nearly stumbling in your escape. He does not dare to follow, lowering his arm in defeat.

        Genos is beyond perplexed, bewildered. He can’t make sense of what just happened. The logical side of his brain concludes he overwhelmed you by triggering a traumatic memory, which is understandable. He never meant for things to take such a drastic turn. What is most peculiar is this strange, minuscule pang of… what is that? Shame? Should he have known better? Was it too soon for you to talk about it? Of course he didn’t expect you to open up right away. Even if you told him it’s none of his business, then that would’ve been that. It wouldn’t have mattered in the grand scheme of things, like not being able to itch a scratch that would’ve disappeared on its own eventually. Still…

        He brushes the thought out of his mind to pick his grocery bags up from the ground, but his optics took notice of something else. It seems in the commotion, you dropped yours as well and if your inability to pay in full back at the store was any indication, then it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’ll be going hungry without them.

        Genos catches himself sighing. You’re becoming trouble for him already. At least his will present him with an opportunity to apologize.

        He can’t place why, but now he feels strange about having to track you down, almost guilty. On top of that, his core is practically overheating and the cooling mechanism doesn’t seem to be doing its job. A malfunction? He’ll ask the good doctor about it later.

        His phone buzzes in his pocket. A notification from his Sensei suggests it’s time for him to head home as well. Carefully, he scoops your groceries up off the ground.

        Guess he’ll have to keep them safe for you until tomorrow.

        “Please pick up please pick up please pick up-“

        Your phone is huddled against your ear by two shaking hands covered in sweat, hairs sticking to your face as you’re hunched over your toilet. The panic hasn’t gone away. You aren’t sure how you made it home, you don’t remember coming through your front door, much less throwing off your hoodie and pants, leaving you shivering on the cold of your bathroom floor in your undergarments. Your skin is scorching hot yet you are experiencing an unbearable cold. To add insult to injury, you’ve been dry-heaving since the contents of your stomach were already emptied mere minutes ago. Tears stain your cheeks and many more threaten to fall when you realize neither Satoru or Swim are available to pick up the phone.

        “Pleeeeease,” you whine amidst struggled sobs, trying once more to reach Satoru. It rings and rings for a heart-wrenchingly long time then goes to voicemail, the cheerful tone of his voice asking you to leave a message not bringing even a modicum of comfort. You try again for Swim, but to no avail.

        You desperately resist the urge to smash your phone onto the tile at your knees, or flush it down with your lunch, or repeatedly slam your skull against the porcelain. Fuck, this was the very last thing you wanted today. Just when things begin to finally look up, you’re brought back down to your horrendous reality, your monotonously mundane and forgettable existence.

        Half of you blames the cyborg for being so fucking nosy, half of you blames yourself for being ridiculously pathetic. What right did you have to even try to live a normal life? To pretend you could be okay? Be normal? Who gave you permission to move on? To be anything other than a worthless, poor excuse for a human being? You haven’t done anything remarkable, all of your so-called “achievements” since that terrible day have been less than average, things stable people can do without a second thought. You can’t do any of that right. If all it takes is a few words for you to make all of your progress for naught, then you haven’t really been productive at all, have you.

        You want to scream. You want to hurt yourself. You want to disappear. You want to die. You want to whither into nothingness like you deserve.

        You check your phone again, scrolling up and down your call log, refreshing your messages, looking for any kind of sign you may have missed a call or text in the few moments you set your phone down. No such luck. You were on your own. You’re stuck with your own thoughts and there’s nothing you can do about it.

        Your mind races. It’s throwing every name in the book at you, every synonym for useless, disgusting trash it can think of. It’s incessantly berating you. Nobody is coming to help. Not a soul. You have nobody. Not Satoru, not Swim, not even-

        Wait.

        A thought crosses your mind, one that solidifies your desperation and stupidity. It has you in denial, in disbelief. It’s something you’d never think of doing, especially when you’re going off the deep end. It wouldn’t even be worth a try, you’ll be ignored as always. You won’t be given the time of day, let alone a second thought.

        So why on earth are you considering it?

        There’s one contact in your phone you hover your thumb over, pulling it back and forth with hesitation. Even the name puts a lump in your throat, a terrible certainty you’ll go straight to voicemail sits in front of your mind. It’s a bad idea, you tell yourself. You’re setting yourself up for disappointment. You’re breaking your own heart. You aren’t prepared to let yourself down again, especially not right now.

        There’s a sharp pain in your gut. Your stomach is hollow. Your nausea can’t possibly get any worse. Of all times to attempt to revive your connection, this is certainly not ideal.

        A quaking breath passes your lips when you hit the call button anyway, heart hammering against your chest.

        It rings.

        And rings, and rings, and rings.

        Then it stops. There’s a bit of static on the other end. And then you hear it. 

        “[Name]? Are you alright?”

        You would’ve melted from hearing the genuine concern in his voice if it weren’t for the horrendous state you’re in. You settle for doing your damn hardest to get your crying under control. You can’t bring yourself to be angry with him for ignoring you these past several months. It’s too good to hear him, to know he answered.

        “Iai? It… it’s you, right?” It felt like a dumb question, but you had to know for sure.

        He stifles an awkward laugh, “Yes. I’m here,” he pauses, listening to your shallow breathing. You can imagine his serious, stern expression, “and you sound troubled. Are you safe?”

        He’s always been so intuitive. He never fails to perceive when something is wrong. Back in better times, he was the only person who could tell what you were thinking at any given moment, even without looking at you.

        “I-… yeah. I’m home.” you mumble out between staggered breaths. He hums in acknowledgment, content to know you’re not in any immediate danger. You wipe a few fresh tears from your eyes,  “Please, j-just talk. Talk to me. Please.”

        “Of course,” he responds, understanding exactly what you meant. This was practically ritual to you two, back in times when your panic attacks were more frequent. He’s always been a wonderful source of comfort, talking to you about anything and everything to keep the anxiety at bay. And every time, it helped.

        He proceeds to gloat about his master, how his fellow apprentices are doing, that he’s getting better at mastering his skills one-handed. You did ask how he’s been doing since he lost his arm, that was a particularly difficult time for him. It was also around that time the two of you began to grow apart, considering he started putting more and more effort into honing his skills as a one-armed swordsman. Out of fear of actually losing him like you thought you did, you didn’t dare bring that up, at least not over the phone. Berating him now for making you think he abandoned you would turn this whole call sour.

        You updated him on your life as well, that you managed to land a job you start tomorrow, have a close friend and budding closeness with another, how you were trying to get your life together. He did inevitably ask about your mental state, because of course that has been a constant battle in your friendship. Ten years of growing up together with Iai (who is three years your senior) watching your agonizing descent into deep depression has been taxing and rocky, with him going through great lengths to keep you afloat. Getting into adulthood, your connection definitely waned, particularly after you lost your job and living situation 6 months ago, but then he lost his arm and you almost completely lost touch. Daily phone calls turned into weekly. Then monthly. Then none at all. Texts went unanswered. Planned time together just ceased to happen. You tried your hardest not to place blame on him, considering he started putting all of his time into his training and heroism, yet it felt like you’d been abandoned - like his duty now came before you, his closest connection for a decade. And maybe it did. He values life immensely, he saves people every day, everything he does is for the greater good and the preservation of human existence.

        It’s just… he didn’t make time. Not even once. You seemingly became unimportant to him, like he’d finally given up on you.

        But at this moment, you want to pretend nothing changed. He answered when you needed him. It counts for something.

        That feeling of being left behind gets shoved into the back of your mind so you can refocus on the now. A half hour passed in the time you’ve been talking to Iai and your panic attack has pretty much subsided. Something about the way he talks and carries himself has always been calming for you. It makes you ashamed to still have that lingering of dependence on him despite not having contact for months.

        “So you have a hero looking after you?” he asks after you explained the mental health program you were practically forced into. Perhaps it’s a blessing at this point, since Swim is becoming someone you trust.

        “Yeah. She’s nice. And gets me out of the house.”

        He breathes a sigh of relief, “And your other friend. A hero too? Mumen Rider?”

        “Mhm.”

        “I don’t know of Swim, but I’ve heard of the cyclist. While he does seem admirable,” you brace yourself for his coming criticism, “I’m not confident in his abilities to protect you.”

        You pinch the bridge of your nose, “I don’t want protection. He’s been a good friend. That’s all I need him to be.”

        Iaian lets out a sound akin to frustration, his tone quickly turning stern. “You have to understand being close to and seen with a hero places a target on your back. In the event you’re caught in a predicament, would you be able to put your life in his hands?”

        “I wouldn’t have to. He wouldn’t let it come to that.” Irritation grows in your words. This is where your relationship gets dicey, where his overprotective nature shines the most when it comes to your livelihood. You can’t remember how many times you’ve had conversations similar to this over the years, when full-time vigilantes first started popping up before the official establishment of the Hero Association.

        “Maybe he wouldn’t, but if he knows you as well as you claim, then he knows how reckless you can be with your life.”

        Ouch. Did he really have to hit you where it hurts? Oh, but he sure is one to talk, always jumping into battle when he’s not ready. Kamikaze has scolded him on that enough.

        “I can take care of myself.” you respond, voice slightly wavering. Are those tears welling in your eyes? You swore you cried all of those out already. A headache is now starting to form.

        “We both know that isn’t true. Not after-“

        “Don’t.”

        He knew not to bring it up. Your most recent attempt on your life has become an incredibly touchy subject, especially after your interaction with Demon Cyborg. That familiar shame creeps back into your esophagus next to the sudden anger boiling in the pit of your stomach, not just at yourself but at Iaian for having the audacity to even try to use it against you.

        “Don’t you dare.” you say through grit teeth, clenching and unclenching your fist. “Why do you give a shit anyway? It’s not like you’ve been around.”

        His momentary silence speaks volumes. You don’t understand why it makes you feel guilty. Regardless of all the time you’ve spent wasting and rotting your brain with a whirlwind of emotions concerning him, it still doesn’t feel right to chastise him for leaving you in the dust.

        “… I’m sorry.” he replies, recognizing the weight of his words, “I didn’t mean to…”

        He trails off trying to find the words to express and reasons as to why, but you believe all he has are excuses pertaining to his work and training. You can’t find it in you to truly be upset. You honestly don’t want to talk about it.

        “N-No, I’m sorry too,” you apologize with an exhale, “I don’t have the right to complain.”

        “You do. I can explain my absence from your life. But it doesn’t justify the lack of contact.”

        He sounds so sincere, genuine in his remorse. Another quality of his you adore is his inability to lie. He prides himself on being an honorable man and does his best to live up to that expectation. He would not be able to call himself a purveyor of justice if he didn’t attempt to set a golden standard. It’s how he is and how he will continue to be.

        You’re about ready to call it a day and end this awkward conversation. You got the comfort you were seeking, and have convinced yourself it was a one-off chance encounter. Things will go back to how they were and you won’t speak again for a while. There’s not much else you can say or do.

        “Thanks for picking up, Iai. I think I’m gonna-“

        “Wait.”

        You halt your thumb from pressing to end the call, allowing him another minute to speak.

        “Come to the dojo tomorrow. Master Atomic is joining Master Bang for a fishing excursion, and elected myself and the others to watch over the grounds. Most of my time will go to honing my swordsmanship, but I’d like you to join me for tea.”

        You think on it, tapping your knee with your index finger. “You’re gonna be on call though, right?”

        “… yes. And I would still wish to see you, if only for a moment.”

        Your cheeks flair with heat at the prospect. Last you saw him was in the hospital, right after his arm was taken from him. He was fully awake, yet near-unresponsive. He looked so distraught, mumbling about his failure as a protector and swordsman. It broke your heart, still does when you think back on it.  What would it be like to see him now? He fully recovered physically, albeit missing a limb. You can’t imagine much has changed other than his skills with the blade. You remember a time you frequented the dojo just to ogle him on the field… perhaps this is an opportunity to relive those days.

        Head filled with nostalgic longing for the past, you sigh wistfully and set the date. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

        “Is noon alright? I take it you’re still fond of sleeping in.” In the way he asks, he’s more than likely smiling. Your heart skips a beat at the thought.

        “Yeah. Noon is fine. I’ll see you then.” Hopefully, you think. You’re skeptical the plans will come to fruition. There’s no doubt he is aware he’s lost a lot of your trust. If he’s trying to make up for it, he’d be smart not to cancel.

        “Of course.”

        There’s a pause as you contemplate your next words carefully. You want to put faith in him again. You want him to prove to you he won’t let you go. The ball is in his court, after all.

        “… Iai?”

       “Yes?”

       “Thank you. For answering.”

        Any and all tension fades away with his next words.

       “I won’t let you down again. I promise.”