"You always are..."
… Sorry. That's the only thing you can do. Being sorry.
"How did we end up like this ? Why does it have to come to this ? We tried- No, I tried to change it. I did my best, I fought for it, I fought for you, and we just end up like… Like what, enemies ? Do you at least remember me ? Do you remember us ? Us, with the class, with everyone you know, everyone you met during all these so said precious years ? Do you remember us, together ? What we went through, what we sacrificed, what we achieved, does it ring a bell ? Why, how did it end up this way ? How, tell me, Momo," the young man, exhausted, confused, angered, eyes half-closed, half-opened, still alive but so tired, shouts at the top of his lungs, spitting at her face the little oxygen he inhales. "Tell me !"
She looks past him, glares at the ground, her nails planted deeply in his bloody neck, tearing apart the little skin she can catch under her broken nails. Her burned hair tickles his cheeks, stings his eyes, they seem to suffocate him, falling like rain just at the corner of his mouth. She doesn't move, doesn't try to get away, being the one dominating the fight, hands clasped around his neck like claws on a frail prey, legs entangled with his own trembling ones. She suffers silently from the burn marks all over her thighs, red around her ankles, skin falling from her naked feet where red leather melted, bloody knees, opened shin bone, cut calf. She lets her shallow and irregular breath warm his cheeks, lets her tears cover his own. Every tear, salty and transparent droplet of organic water, feels like a new forged blade burning through his every pore, engraving the sorrow they both feel deeply in his flesh. She grits her teeth, her words stuck, resonating in her throat, playing over and over in her mind, but not coming out of her mouth the way she would like them to, monster-like groans, low and distorted noises escaping through her parted lips instead, and he sobs loudly, nose pressed against her dislocated shoulder. Shouto, still under her grip, grunts as his head falls heavily on the ground. Blood drowns his left eyes, and he can just hope that his blue iris still shows his anger.
"Don't cry. I won't pity you."
"I don't want your pity !"
"Then what do you want ?" He yells, apparent pain showing on his face, blinding his vision for a moment. "What are you crying for ?"
His rage resonates again and again, doomed echoes of a newfound hatred, and Momo winces under his harsh words. He glares at her, piercing, analyzing, trying to understand the meanings of her her actions, of the bad choices she made. But he can only see genuine regret, and he hates himself for forgiving her even a little. His ragged breath hits his teeth, he can feel his pulse beat inside his upper jaw, shaking his canines. His teeth seem to fall, one by one, under the pressure his brain imposes. He grits his jaw firmly, biting down the pain playing in his body, in his head. He heaves, feeling fire form at the tip of his cut fingers.
"I just want you to understand-"
"There's nothing to understand, Momo ! You betrayed us !"
"And I did it for a reason !"
His head jerks up, eyes darting everywhere at the sudden movement, too fast for him. They dart and look, blurry images invading him. They fall on the dirty walls, on the dusty ground, on her bloody forehead, bloodshot eyes, cut lips. Those lips he kissed before, those lips that traced his neck softly, that peppered his torso, that marked his body as her and hers only. He looses his anger, disappointment taking over him. His head falls back again, it hurts less, desperation covering the damage. Sadness makes his voice quiver, and it's a contrast too big, too visible, compared to his usual strong, sure and monotonous voice, voice long forgotten now.
"All those pretty words, those lovely compliments, those strong promises, did you forget them, too ? You swore to become one of the best heroes that ever existed, but you just ended up as a filthy criminal, one of the worst villains here, now. You lied to everyone, you lied to me. We lost so many nights together," he says frailly, those late nights being important weakness of his mind.
"I don't regret them," she whispers back.
"And I don't either. But they hurt, now. You betrayed me. Not only as a hero, but also as a lover. You lied."
"I didn't lie on my feelings toward you," she assures, voice as weak as his, fingers loosing their grip on his neck. He takes better, bigger breathes, neck and cheeks flushed. Once again, she marked his body.
"But you threw them away," he breathes heavily, hardly taking enough oxygen." You gave up on them like you gave up on your hero's career," his voice sounds monotonous again, and it's the last straw, she takes her hands away from his neck, prompting them on his cheeks. Her thumbs erase the blood and tears, the dust and bruises on his red cheeks, her right thumb contouring his scar. He doesn't push her away, doesn't move. He finds enjoyment in the movement.
"I'm sorry, Shouto..."
"You always are..."
And that's true, she can't yell otherwise like she would have wanted to. He's right, she knows. She lied, she betrayed, she abandoned and she sacrificed, for her family's sake, for her own sake, letting everyone down, only being able to give them pitiful apologies and forced smiles when they just wanted to know the reason why. She hurts them, she beats them, she insults them, she does so much when they only want her back. She sobs again and again, regretting her actions, regretting her choices, her words, the pain she imposed on them when, at the end, they just wanted to love her. Footsteps echo behind her, behind the closed and frozen iron door. She stands up, letting go of Shouto's cheeks. He stays lying on the ground, covering his pale face with his bloody forearms, ignoring the pain the movement creates. He eyes the colored blade deeply penetrating his left shoulder, Momo's last creation. It has the same design as her matriochkas, it just seems darker, the usual familiarity of the motif hurting more than it should, hurting more than it comforts. Her hears her naked feet colliding against the jagged ground, he hears her hand gripping the handle of the other door, the one she'll use to get away, once again. But she doesn't move and as the footsteps become cleared, nearer, Shouto fonds himself worrying she'll get caught.
"I love you," she says. Just says. It hols so much but sounds so flat. It hurts. It hurts both of them.
Shouto could have said it back, he could have told her the truth, what he really thinks, what he truly feels. He could have said the same simple three words. But he didn't.
"I hate you," he says, too. It's formal, they both know it's a lie, but neither of them contradict it.
"I hate myself, too," he hears her smile and, just like that, she escapes, soundlessly closing the door behind her. Shouto takes in the moment of silence as only the incoming footsteps bother the calm environment.
The door jolts open, and he sees, from where he's lying, Izuku's pained face. The young man runs to him, alarmed at Shouto's more than just bruised body. Shouto nods, ignores his pain, sits up.
"She escaped," he tells Midoriya, false irritation covering his tongue. He doesn't regret letting her go. He doesn't know if he could have stopped her, seeing his state. "I couldn't stop her," and maybe he can hear the subtle sigh of relief Izuku expresses, too. Maybe they both wanted her away, far from the cell she would have to stay in for the rest of her life.
Pro heroes erupt from the door, some running to Shouto, helping and healing him in the best way they can, others running after the long gone young adult, new villain, traitor of Yuuei, famous for her betrayal. Shouto can only hope she's far now, in safety, where no one can catch her. He wants to know her reasons, the truth hiding behind her bad choices, but he knows that if she tells him, it would mean that she's gotten caught, and that she would get punished, imprisoned for it. And Shouto can only think that, if he had to know the truth, it would come from the silent of her dead body only.