Chapter Text
*DING*
*TOCK*
*TOCK*
*TOCK*
The sound filled her room as she stared outside her window, acoustic guitar in hand.
It was a rainy night. Neither weak nor torrential, the pitter-patter echoed all around her, enhanced by her Quirk. Distant lights coming from lamp posts, faraway buildings and houses, and cars cross her vision.
A chilling sensation envelops her. It was cold, despite the thick hoodie, pajamas, and socks she had on to combat the temperature.
She places her guitar down on her stand. Nothing was coming to her no matter how hard she tried.
It was yet another creative slump, a common short-term problem she faced from time to time.
She takes a look at the digital clock on her nightstand. It has just struck midnight, yet the call of sleep hasn’t come to her yet. Not only was it a night of creative slumps, it was also another sleepless night. Something that has become far too common for her liking.
Lingering thoughts of the events that transpired in their first year still eat her psyche from time to time, at least, she likes to think that this was the reason. Whether or not that was a good thing, she didn’t know. ‘Traumatized’ is putting it lightly.
How she hasn’t developed serious mental conditions, she’ll never know. Perhaps she’d been desensitized to the carnage the moment she stepped foot into this school. She knew what she was getting into, after all. She could’ve followed in the footsteps of her mother and father, living the comparatively simpler life of a musician. The call of the current profession she was pursuing, however, was stronger, and despite how crazy it sounded, she’d probably never have it any other way. Again, whether or not that was a good thing, she didn’t know.
She hates, loathes, this feeling of inactivity due to a temporary loss of creative power. Of course, there’s her phone or her laptop to do something else, but she wanted to do something a little bit more productive, which she knew was an impossible task at this moment, seeing as she had already let go of the instrument she held a couple minutes ago.
Her metronome continues ticking away, an oddly therapeutic sound.
The girl hones in on the other sounds of their shared dormitory, apologizing silently to herself for intruding on everyone’s privacy.
There was nothing out of the ordinary. Snoring was the predominant sound, followed by the occasional tossing and turning in bed. A little muttering while sleeping came from an approximate location that belonged to her electric friend.
One sound she wasn’t expecting to hear, or rather, a lack of sound, emanated near the room of her most altruistic classmate.
Instead, there was a sound below her. The sounds of glass and ceramic clinking, followed by the sounds of liquid being poured into a container.
The moment she fixates on this sound is the moment the girl stands up from the foot of her bed. Playing music was currently not working and she had no other productive way of spending the remaining hours of the night until she felt sleepy. Perhaps this little excursion to be with him would be a nice change of pace.
Upon her arrival in the main lobby of the dormitory, she finds his messy, bush-like green hair poking out from the sofa he sat on, illuminated by the calming glow of the TV he had turned on, currently showing an infomercial channel displaying a concerning amount of near-useless kitchen utensils. The over-the-top voice of an enthusiastic salesman going on about his ‘amazing commodities’ accompanied by cheesy music served as ambient noise as she heard what seemed to be a spoon clinking on a glass bowl, a couple of light crunches here and there.
He turns around, eyes slightly widened, surprised by her presence before calming down. She takes a closer look, seeing the normally timid boy chowing down on cereal.
He nods at her. She does the same.
She tucks a stray strand of her purple hair behind her ear as she continues eyeing the bowl he had in his hand. She shrugs, walking to the kitchen counter and seeing a jug of milk and a cereal box still sitting on it. Grabbing a bowl and spoon for herself, she begins pouring the two ingredients together, storing the box in a cupboard and the milk in the fridge, before walking back to the lobby.
She gestures to the empty spot to his right. The boy nods as he shoves another spoonful into his mouth as the girl plops down unceremoniously beside him on the couch.
He grabs the remote on the counter, switching the channels one by one, until it lands on a music channel.
Said channel was displaying a “technical difficulties, stand by” message. Instead of the typical, funky sounding instrumental, it was instead showing a ticking metronome.
She found it a little sweet how the boy beside her would be thoughtful enough to switch the T.V.'s content to something that matches her interests, and while it is endearing, she doesn’t have the heart to tell him that once the clock struck midnight, this particular channel was also not gonna be airing anything until sunrise.
So she lets the ticking sound permeate throughout the empty lobby, a slight echo following after every tick and tock.
Not one word, not even one sound between the two, but light rain ongoing, the TV hum, and the metronome.
Eventually, the contents of their bowls were consumed. She only realizes until after finishing her bowl that she would have to deal with the simmering in her stomach a couple minutes from now.
And it seems that it was the same case for the freckled boy beside her, whose stomach had already growled quite a bit. He lets out a sigh of annoyance, something that she notes is a rare emotion coming from him, causing her to huff with a smile on her face. He turns to her, a similar smile etched on his face.
After a while, the boy, holding his bowl, stands up, reaching his hand out to her and gesturing to the bowl on her lap. She obliges and hands it to him, pursing her lips and nodding to thank him for offering to wash it. He does the same gesture.
She follows after him to the kitchen and watches in silence as the greenette got to work, squeezing some dish soap on a sponge that clearly was in need of replacing given how worn out it was.
The girl leaned on the counter, her thoughts once again coming back to the devastation that took place during their first year.
Unintentionally letting out a heavier-than-usual exhale, she looks back at him, surprised by how loud her sigh had been. Sure enough, the boy was looking back at her, a concerned look painted over him.
She wanted to speak, say something, but she didn’t know what was preventing her.
Despite this, there seemed to be a look of understanding behind his compassionate, emerald eyes.
Her eyes widen, shocked by how they seem to be communicating telepathically.
His concern is replaced by a sullen, yet hopeful look as he gives her a smile.
She smiles back.
The boy returns to washing the kitchenware, his foot tapping along to the sound of the metronome from the T.V. they’d forgotten to turn off. As for her, she tapped her fingers on the counter alongside him.
Once he turns the faucet off and dries his hands, they walk back to the lobby. He grabs the remote, preparing to turn the T.V. off.
But she stops him, holding his hand that held the device. At first, confusion sets in his face. The more the seconds pass by, he slowly turns back to the T.V., hearing the calming sound of the metronome before turning back to her.
She gestures towards the couch with a smile, inviting the boy. He smiles and follows along with her offer, the two sitting on both ends of the couch.
They let the time pass.
Slowly but surely, she felt her eyelids grow heavier by the minute, the sounds of the metronome and the rain outside serving as something of a children’s lullaby. She turns to her left, seeing him lean his head back, eyes closed, as if he fell asleep.
That is, he would seem to be, if it weren’t for her noticing him tapping his finger on the cushions of the couch along to the metronome.
She lets out a slight chuckle as she finally lets sleep take over her, the sounds of the metronome filling her ears.
*DING*
*TOCK*
*TOCK*
*TOCK*
In her dream, the chaos begins.
Brought to her senses by the distinct sound of three explosions that occurred not far from where they were, her ears booming an uncomfortable tinnitus as she battles the forces they had trained for.
A touch on her shoulder snaps her back once more, the hand belonging to one of the adult heroes.
There was an expression of fear evident behind his solemn eyes, masked only by steely determination to get through this war and win it for the good guys.
And that was enough.
She stood up, now with a more resounding resolve, readying a stance that seemed to taunt her enemies.
A ragtag couple of villains were headed their way, and she notices the other heroes, some of which were her classmates, brace themselves for the incoming scuffle that was certainly going to be bloody.
She can only hope that no casualties would be had, hero or villain.
The next couple of moments felt like her body was on autopilot. A dodge to a villain’s metallic arm, a strike to a red-haired maniac-looking villain. She plugs her jacks into her amplifiers, letting out a sonic wave directed towards a sea of humanity, making sure not to target her own allies.
She looks off to the side to catch a breather given that none of the villains were targeting her at the moment. Some of her classmates, her friends, were there, fighting alongside her and other established heroes.
Bruises etched their faces, with only a handful of patches of skin left untouched by either debris or injury. Some parts of their outfits had been torn off or damaged, a noticeable color of red replacing what should’ve been their pale skin.
The girl closes her eyes. This was not the time to think about that sort of thing. She can worry about that later.
All that matters right now is that they survive this encounter and apprehend the suspects wreaking havoc.
More villains come their way, and the girl is ready to provide either backup support or direct retaliation against the enemy.
She realizes everyone in her makeshift squad was busy dealing with other threats.
Time to be her own protagonist for once.
She readies herself, her jacks again plugging into her amplifiers. Plugging them into the ground, she sets off a miniature earthquake headed the villains’ way.
Some were dealt with, but the more experienced criminals in the bunch anticipated the attack and avoided it and were now making a beeline towards her.
Getting back up on her feet, she could feel her heart rate increasing. Normally, this would be a bad thing with her nerves.
But for her? This was a boon.
The villains attempt to strike her, with the girl landing sonic wave-assisted blows to their chests, disrupting them one by one, herself being surprised how she’s actually taking the fight to them.
Another strike is dodged and she lands a punch to the dome of one of the villains, rendering them unconscious.
A slash of something sharp suddenly stings her thigh, and she barely manages to get out of the way and parry the attack with another one of her amplified punches.
The final bunch of villains that were aiming to get rid of her decided to jump her. Unfortunately for them, she still had a lot more left in the tank.
She curses at them, charging up a punch that releases an intense sound wave, knocking the group back towards another group of villains that was charging towards her friends, effectively bowling them and rendering the villains out of commission.
One of the heroes points to the sky before she could even celebrate.
Upon looking up, she sees the demon lord, duking it out with the flaming juggernaut hero, accompanied by a red-winged hero providing support.
They were in bad shape.
Someone had to go there.
She turns to see her bird-headed classmate readying to save his mentor, and she sees this as an opportunity to hopefully turn the tides in their favor.
So she accompanies her friend.
She sits back up.
The TV that used to play a metronome was now playing a solemn guitar tune, the time displayed on the channel reading 5:30 AM.
That dream wasn’t a dream.
It was a memory.
The scene that played out was the moments before she and Tokoyami would go up against that hellspawn to confront him and save the latter’s mentor.
It was before she would come face to face with Death herself and live to tell the tale, albeit, with a grim reminder present on one of her now-defunct earlobes.
She looks to her side, seeing the green-haired boy beside her dozing off.
The girl is surprised by this. Normally, he would be outside the dorms at this time, going on his morning runs that he’d made part of his routine.
But instead, he was here, sleeping in.
Most probably due to being tired.
And who could blame him for taking a breather?
Out of everyone else, the boy beside him probably went through the most stress.
She knew she wouldn’t have been able to handle even a fraction of the emotions that were putting him in turmoil during that time period.
He never should’ve been subject to that chaos. He never should’ve been a target of that egomaniac.
Yet he pushed through. For the sake of everyone around him.
For a better tomorrow.
How she wished he wouldn’t have to go through that. She was thankful for him, yes, but no one should’ve had to go through that mess.
She stares at the patch of his head that had been shaven off, the scar from the battle still present. A grim reminder of what they had to endure… A hopeful reminder that a clear, sunny day is there waiting for you after the torrential storm.
She musters a soft smile, tapping his shoulder gently to wake him up.
The boy stirs, finally bringing his eyes to open. Her eyes track his own which was trained on the TV.
He lets out a groan, realizing that he’d broken his routine for today. She had to laugh at that. He stares at her incredulously before letting out a defeated sigh and chuckle.
She gestures to the elevator with the boy following in tow.
On the way, once more, no words were spoken. Just the calming silence that both seemed to delight in when in one another’s presence.
He was safe.
She was safe.
They separate after reaching the second floor, with the greenette waving a slight goodbye with a hum, the punk girl doing the same.
The rest of their day carries on with their respective routines and friend groups.
This time, though, there was a connection built between Kyoka Jiro and Izuku Midoriya, as they spotted the other on opposite ends of the dorm.
She gives him a smile. He blushes, as is the typical reaction from him, but reciprocates in kind.