Reflection. It sounded so gentle as a word.
He knew others would think of mirrors, the smooth surface of calm lakes, the glitter of the sun on metal. Not for him. For the boy known only as The Accelerator, even to himself, it was another word entirely.
Sometimes it was comforting. It sounded like protection and safety, solitude, the calm within the storm around him. The stupidity and thoughtlessness of others was deflected away from him without his direction. It saved time, and effort. It wasn't like he wanted to interact with any of those morons anyway.
Other times it was convenient. There was no point getting wet in the rain, letting a passing bird crap on his clothes or choking on the dust thrown up by cars on a hot day. Alone, without blemish, it allowed him to remain without a flaw if he so chose.
Perfection. It wasn't exactly an idea he was interested in. Strength and power, now, those were his watchwords. He'd be the first to admit that he didn't give a shit about looking perfect. With a mind and heart as blackened and wrong as his, what the fuck did appearance matter? So he had always thought.
Looking into a mirror in a darkened room, he flicked a finger against one pale cheek and clicked his tongue in annoyance. Perfection, huh? What the hell did that even mean? No one was perfect. Not him, not the people that were trying to be heroes, not scientists or espers, not magicians or monsters. Not even she was perfect. Maybe that was why he cared.
She was sleeping behind him. Quiet, for once. He'd been about ready to throw something out the window by the time she finally shut up and dozed off. His ears still rang from the chattering he could have tuned out. Could have, but didn't. It was a humid, sticky evening. The sort of weather that asked questions.
Just what was he doing, staring at his reflection? What was it going to do, run away? Turn into someone else? The hell if he cared. A face and a body didn't mean a whole lot anyway.
Reflection. It could show the stark realities of a body but not the cracks within a soul. What was the point in that?
His ability to reflect was the reason such a obnoxiously flawless body was looking back at him. No sunlight had touched him, no illness had ravaged him, even gravity didn't want him. Pitiful. It wasn't that he'd started out choosing to be alone. The world just hadn't wanted him to be part of it.
He remembered some of the first incidents. Heavy hands trying to rest on his shoulders in comfort snapping back. Blows of punishment leaving bruises on the enforcer. A badly aimed baseball breaking a nose. It only got worse, of course. That was history and there was no point thinking about it. After that, he'd not bothered counting the times it happened.
Now, he pressed a hand to the mirror and tilted his head to the side, expression conveying nothing but boredom.
Reflections couldn't show the blood on your hands. All the mirror showed was whiteness, as if it couldn't be bothered to lend him colour. Not like he needed to see it anyway. Forgetting wasn't an option. He was as far from perfect as it was possible to be. He'd come to accept that. A collar and some compact technology attached to him was the only outward sign of damage. Didn't seem fair on people that bore scars of battle, really. Bully for them. He didn't have the energy to care.
But what if she was injured like that?
He turned slowly from the mirror, watching the small girl sprawled out on the bed without a care in the world. Stumpy legs, drooling, messed up hair, her arm bent at an angle that would mean the pins and needles when she woke up would have her screaming the place down.
"Moron."
What was perfect, anyway?
He moved to stand beside the bed, looking down with the same mask of apathy as before. There were too many questions to answer before he'd consider letting an emotion out from his wreck of a heart. It was how it was, whatever that meant, and it could stay that way.
She could feel the rain. She complained about getting cold after splashing in puddles. And she could feel the sun, too, he had put up with hours of whining after she spent too long outside and got dizzy. She was so damn stupid it was a wonder she could sleep so soundly.
But that was why he was here, wasn't it.
"Such a pain."
He turned to leave before a smile could find his lips and stay there but froze in place at a sudden soft pressure on his wrist.
A tiny hand was circling his wrist, had reached out for him when completely defenceless. Such a gentle, warm gesture and yet his heart was pounding. He closed his eyes and waited for the snap, the screaming, the chaos that would surely follow.
"It's hot…"
It was a murmur, nothing more than sleep-talk, but it rooted him in place.
Nothing. The heavy silence settled back over the room and the darkness lay still. He had been caught off guard. So why…
The mirror showed him a face stricken with confusion. Surely it couldn't be his own reflection. When had he ever looked that stupid? He couldn't take walking closer to it, passing it on his way out. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and tried to hold his breath.
The world didn't want him. It never had. But it wanted her, this foolish sleeper that didn't even know how to raise her guard. And it was his wrist she had reached for.
"Stupid," he whispered, shaking his head. "You have no taste, you know?"
There was little he could do except sit still and let the night pass. He stared into the shadows, waiting for the dream to end, reflected back out from the long hollow heart where it was making a home.
A/N: First time writing for this fandom, so hello. Anime and early novel-verse so this may be a bit mixed up, I'm not sure. Thanks for taking the time to read!