(I'm posting these all right now just for archival purposes. Sorry to anyone who is following me as an author who is getting a ton of emails right now! Go to my AO3 account DracotheDeathEatingCupcake if you want to read the original format with tags and notes and everything.)
Mondo Owada stands in the most opulent and outrageous dorm room he's ever been in, feeling entirely out of his depths as he takes in the ridiculously spacious area. The bed is in the middle of the room, not touching a single wall (he didn't even know you could have a bed not against a wall, fuck, it seems so ridiculous to him), with an honest to god fucking desk behind it. A desk. Fuck, he doesn't think he's ever had a desk in his life! There's a dining table and a coffee table and a couch and a stereo and a TV set, and Mondo feels so far out of his depths he has no idea what to do.
When he'd gotten the letter inviting him to attend Hope's Peak, he'd legitimately thought it was a scam and threw it away without a single thought. Like hell would Hope's Peak— the world's most prestigious high school— ever invite him, of all people, to attend. Yeah, he's the leader of the largest biker gang in all of Japan, something he's so fucking proud of (the only thing he's proud of), but like hell would those business and academic types ever see that as worth shit.
It wasn't until Jiro, his legal 'guardian' (noted as such only to get the fucking government off his back) had called him and hesitantly told him he'd gotten a phone call from the school, asking to speak with him, that he'd started to think that maybe— just maybe— it wasn't a hoax. And then, when he'd driven to Tokyo and met with the headmaster and other members of the board— feeling more uncomfortable than he's felt... ever, really— they'd informed him that his strong leadership abilities and 'charisma' (whatever the fuck that means) had impressed them when reviewing his file.
Which was fucking laughable, considering he'd spent most of the previous school year in juvie for breaking a would-be rapist's jaw. But since that would-be rapist was the son of a rich businessman, he'd not been able to talk his way out of the punishment like usual. He'd only been in the fucking place for three months, before having to do community service (which he's never minded much, to tell the truth), but he knows that having a criminal record isn't exactly the type of thing a place like Hope's Peak would be able to excuse.
And yet... somehow, they did.
And now, several months and a lot of uncomfortable confusion later, here he is. Standing in his new room, wondering how the fuck his life got so fucking weird.
And it's not like he hadn't considered saying no, right? He had. Many, many times. Especially when it had been made clear that, while he was at school, he'd likely have to stop leading his gang directly, since he'd have to stay located in Tokyo for the entirety of his schooling and his gang often didn't frequent the busy city. He could still call the shots, calling and emailing Michi (his second in command who'd obviously lead by proxy for him) with orders and recommendations, but he'd not be able to ride with the gang. Not except for the rare times they ride through the city, which wouldn't be nearly often enough for him.
Honestly, that alone almost made him reject the offer outright. Not being able to be part of his gang, the gang his brother had built from scratch and entrusted him to lead? No. Fuck no! Yeah, he'd still technically be leading, but... but... fuck. He'd not be leading, and that just... he couldn't deal with the thought.
However...
Well.
No one rejects an offer from Hope's Peak. Absolutely fucking no one. Not anyone with half a brain, at least, which Mondo likes to think he kinda has. He may be stupid, but he's not that stupid. This... this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. And while he loves his gang more than he loves life itself, he... he... well. He knows that he won't be able to lead his gang forever. Once they all graduate and move on, what becomes of him then? What use is a biker gang leader with no gang to lead? And with his record, and his lack of proper education, he has no hope of getting an actual job, like... ever.
He spends most of his time not thinking about things like this, knowing how stupid dwelling on it all is, but... well. Once he got the offer, the best damn offer he's ever received, ever, he couldn't not think about it. If he legitimately can make it at Hope's Peak... well. It won't erase his record, no, but it will give him something. Something that will make it possible for him to maybe get a job once the gang no longer needs him. He has no idea what job he might even possibly want, not daring to even think of shit like that, but it gives him an option. More than the absolute nothing he currently has.
So, he'd accepted. He'd been almost in a daze, kind of overwhelmed at the entirety of it, but the headmaster hadn't seemed to even notice. He'd just shook the man's hand, as well as the other board members, met with a fucking advisor to discuss his schedule, and then had been asked if he'd need transportation to the school on September first. When he'd shaken his head dully, not saying a word, they'd smiled at him, said they looked forward to seeing him when the school year started, and then... they'd sent him on his way, to spend the following months wondering how the fuck he was supposed to attend this bougie ass school, when he's barely passed literally every class he's ever attended.
And now... now he's here. Out of his depths and halfway to freaking the absolute fuck out, standing in what is supposedly his new fucking room. He's literally never stayed in a room this nice. This single room is larger than his entire fucking apartment, and he's supposed to just accept that this is his, now? And this fucking school! He'd not actually gone on campus when he'd met with the headmaster, instead going to some business headquarters type place, so this is the first time he's seen the school itself, and fuck... he'd felt honest to god nervous stepping through the entrance, eyes darting around, looking for security guards that would storm in to throw him out.
The feeling hadn't left the entire time he wandered through the halls, shoulders tenser than they've ever been before. Because of the unease, he'd been unintentionally glaring at everyone he'd passed, making them all scamper away from him like the pussies they are. Whatever. He doesn't care if these fuckers like him. They're all prolly goody fucking two shoes, and the one thing he's made sure to promise himself is that— no matter what— he's not changing for nothing. He is who he is, unapologetic as fuck. And if this fucking school doesn't like it? Well, then they can kiss his ass. He's spent too fucking long building up his image to ruin it now.
Still. It makes his skin crawl, being in this school. Not even being in 'his' room is helping, not with how over the top it is. He's tempted to go to the headmaster and ask if they have any storage closets that he can sleep in, since at least that would feel closer to 'home' for him. Knowing this fucking school, though, even their storage closets are prolly bougie as fuck.
Honestly? He hates it. All of it. He's spent so long hating his richer classmates (not that any of them were 'rich', but that's beside the point, they were richer than fucking him), the ones who would tote around their new phones and laptops, who had parents who actually fucking loved them and didn't try to beat the shit out of them any chance they got. Fuck, how he hated those kids. Fuck, how he envied them.
And this school is the perfect embodiment of those students. He bets all of his classmates here are rich fuckers, aren't they? He didn't bother researching the incoming students who'd be in his class (what is he, a fucking nerd?), so he has no idea who any of them are, but he knows the types who attend Hope's Peak. And they... are not like him. They never had to go hungry at night, or shiver so hard during winter they wondered if they wouldn't just freeze to death before morning. They didn't have to watch their mother slowly drink herself to death, helpless to do anything but watch. They didn't have to wonder why they were so fucking worthless that not even their own fucking father could stand their fucking guts. No one who attends Hope's Peak has had to deal with shit like that. No one who is selected for this prissy fucking school has ever had to deal with any of that.
But he has. Fuck, he has.
And it burns him inside to know— no matter what this school may fucking want to say— that he does not belong. He will never belong. He just... can't.
Fuck... he can't stay here. H-he can't leave, he's already said he'll attend and like fuck is he going to back down, but... shit. He needs to ride. He has half an hour until his stupid fucking 'orientation' that he's been told he absolutely cannot skip, but that's more than enough time for him to get on his hog and ride around. Feel the wind in his hair, not a care in the fucking world... shit. No better feeling than that. He doesn't have to worry about stupid fucking shit like fitting in or making a good impression when he's on the road, flying down the street. Fuck...
Turning firmly away from the room that is labeled as his but just isn't, Mondo marches over to the door, opening it carefully, stupidly concerned about breaking something and being told he has to somehow pay for that shit. He slides out of the room, silent as a fucking mouse, head scrambled with the emotions he never can figure out how to untangle. Anger. Rage. Hatred. Inadequacy. He hates it, all of it, but he can't make it go away. That's why he needs to go out for a ride. The only time he's ever felt even somewhat okay is when he's on his baby, flying over the pavement. Going so fast the thoughts and feelings and fear can't catch him.
He's so distracted— head tangled so utterly and completely— that he isn't paying attention to his surroundings. He supposes, later, that it was because he assumed that he didn't have to. Everyone knows better than to get on his bad side, especially when he's already clearly upse- pissed off, so he just... takes it for granted that everyone with good fucking sense will give him a wide breadth and leave him the fuck alone. It's how it's always worked before.
Which is why he's jolted out of his anger filled thoughts by the feeling of someone running headfirst into him. It doesn't hurt, of course not, but it's shocking enough to make him look up, eyes wide with his surprise. Usually, he'd be tense as fuck, wondering who dares attack him, but for some reason, he just... isn't.
He doesn't have time to decipher just why he isn't, though, not when he hears someone let out a soft noise of surprise. His eyes automatically focus on the person who ran into him, seeing only shades of black and white before they... they start to teeter backwards, their eyes (were they... red? No, he had to have been seeing things, who the fuck has red eyes) shutting as the person (male, they're male) begins to fall. And then...
He doesn't know why he does it. He really, really doesn't. All he knows is, as he sees this person, this boy (and they are a boy, they look young, prolly a student) start to fall, his... his arms jerk forward, grabbing the boy around his waist, pulling him firmly to his chest, causing the boy to let out a soft 'oof' at the contact.
This all takes place in the span of one fucking second, and his head is fucking reeling as he tries to make sense of what just happened.
Okay. Take stock. He'd been exiting his room, he knows that. He'd taken one fucking step out of the doorway, the door shutting behind him, when he'd been run into. His body, for whatever fucking reason, had decided to grab the person who had run into him, pulling them against his body. And he's now currently holding the fucking boy against his chest, pressed so completely to the other that he can feel every shuddering breath the boy takes as it fans across his exposed collarbone, causing goosebumps to break out all over his body.
Okay. Right. Got it. Makes sense.
What the absolute fuck?!
"Hey! Watch where the fuck yer goin', asshole!"
The words burst from his lips before he can even consciously think about them, the anger that is always present inside him taking control. He doesn't really mean to sound so angry, he's just... he doesn't know. Confused? Baffled? Whatever it is, it's not a feeling he likes, and so the anger comes out, covering up the uncertainty like a mask. It's how he's kept himself safe all these years, not showing a hint of weakness, of uncertainty. Anger masks so much, after all.
It's too bad it can't mask the strange way his stomach is clenching at the feel of the slighter boy in his arms, the faint scent of citrus assaulting him, making him feel slightly dizzy. He can feel hard muscle under his hands, which is strange, considering how short the boy in his arms is, barely coming up to his chin. It's all causing his brain to short circuit and it- it doesn't help that this is the closest someone has been to him in a non-violent manner in... fuck. Over a year. Not since- s-since Dai—
Well. He doesn't usually allow people this close, not when he's not intimidating them, not when he's not beating the shit out of them, so why- why is he- why had he pulled the boy to him, why isn't he pushing him away, why- w-why- wh-
"Language! This is a school, and we are required to adhere to the rules in place at all times! And one such rule is no foul language on school grounds! Because the school year has technically not yet started, I will let you off with a warning this time, but if I hear such language again, I will not hesitate to hand you a detention slip! Am I understood?!"
Mondo feels himself reel back at the shouted, forceful words, blinking in surprise as he looks down at the boy who had been in his arms a moment ago, and yet now is- is not. What the fuck? Mondo hadn't felt him leave the embrace— fuck, no, not embrace, they weren't fucking embracing!— and yet clearly, he must have, as he's now standing a few centimeters away from him, an angry glare on his face, hands on his hips. What the fuck...?
It's then that the words the boy said catch up to him, making him want to reel back again, but he manages to keep it contained, not wanting to look like a fucking idiot, shit. He opens his mouth to shoot back an insult, telling the asshole to mind his own fucking business, but then he just... stops. Legit, straight up, fucking stops, mouth hanging open like a dumbass, eyes wide. And he has no idea why, he never does shit like this, shows weakness and uncertainty, but... but...
His eyes really are red, aren't they? he thinks softly to himself, his own eyes taking in the wide, shockingly red eyes. And it's not like he's never seen someone with red eyes before, right? He has, a couple times. Usually it's creepy as fuck, like some Terminator shit, wigging him the fuck out, though he'd never fucking admit that. But... but the boy, his eyes... well. They're not creepy, not even with how they're glaring at him. Not at all. Not... not at all... instead they- they're...
_Beautiful_.
Strange. Really... really fucking strange.
When he sees those red eyes meet his, finally halting in their dizzying roving of his face, he can see shock within them, shock that he understands perfectly, because he is frozen solid and has no idea what to fucking do. Usually he'd start yelling, his anger covering for him as he tries to mask his discomfort, but for some reason it just- it's just not happening. He feels frozen, weightless, and so fucking confused.
Who the fuck is this boy... and why the fuck am I acting so fucking stupid?
When the boy finally breaks their eye contact, cheeks bright red, Mondo is able to jolt out of the strange fugue that has overcome him and can finally look away from those _captivating_ strange fucking eyes. However, the anger, it just... doesn't come. It just... doesn't.
To give himself something to do while his brain fucking reboots, he lets his eyes dart over the boy's face, like he knows the boy is doing to him. The first thing he notices (other than those eyes, fuck) are his fucking eyebrows. If they even qualify as eyebrows, with how fucking large they are. Jesus Christ, they take up half of his face, don't they? They're currently all furrowed, which makes him honestly look a little intimidating, but Mondo is not the kind to be intimidated easily, so it doesn't bother him at all. And as strange as the larger-than-life eyebrows are, they strangely... suit him. The fuck?
He tears his eyes away from the weird ass eyebrows, then, not liking the thoughts he is having, and instead looks up at his hair. Mondo often judges people based on how much effort they put into their hair, since that shit is fucking important, and this boy... well. He's definitely not winning any style points. His hair is entirely jet black (basic), cropped short (lame), and likely gelled up to be spiky (lazy). Usually, people who have such a hair style are dismissed immediately by Mondo, as he doesn't care at all about such basic bitches who can't be bothered to take care of their 'dos, and yet... and yet... like everything else about this strange fucking boy, it doesn't really... look bad on him. It just... suits him...
Okay. This is- this is getting weird. Why isn't he getting angry? Why isn't he yelling? Why- w-why-
Unbidden, Mondo feels his eyes dart down to the boy's lips, and- holy fucking shit. Mondo can feel his stomach lurch as he takes in the pale, rough looking lips that are currently pulled down into a harsh scowl, and yet- yet it... it doesn't look bad. It- he... they look like they've been bitten so many fucking times they must be sore, fuck. Clearly, the boy must be the type to worry a lot if the way he bites his lips is anything to go by.
Or maybe he's a kinky fucking bastard who kisses a lot of fucking people who bite the shit out of his lips, his mind supplies unhelpfully, causing him to take a quick inhale of breath at the absolutely horrible thought, because now he's thinking about it, about this- this boy, fucking kissing chicks so much that he has permanent bite marks on his lips, his body going hot at the thought, and he- he-
He watches as the boy's _kiss bitten_ lips drop open, his arms dropping dully to his sides, a dazed expression on his cherry red face. Mondo feels his eyes dart back up to those fucking eyes, his body both hot and cold at the same time, and he knows this has gone on long fucking enough, Jesus fucking Christ.
Forcing himself to blink to wake himself from the fucking stupor he's entered into, he feels himself reel back again as he jolts himself into the land of the living and away from whatever weird dream land he'd somehow entered into, shit. He lets out a forceful puff of air, a startled laugh that does not sound at all amused, his mind finally (finally) catching up and letting him respond to the words the boy had said almost fifteen seconds ago, shit. And as he speaks, a small spark of anger finally fills his heart. Finally.
"Yer fuckin' kiddin' me. Right? What are ya, a fuckin' hall monitor?! It's school, dipshit. Don't matter what we fuckin' talk like here."
Mondo watches as the boy blinks at his words, looking taken aback for a split second, before his expression turns hard, those fucking eyes glaring again, his arms coming up to cross over his chest. Not that Mondo looks. His eyes are— stupidly— staring at the boy's eyes again. Because, like... why the fuck not, right? Jesus Christ...
"As a matter of fact, I am! I applied for the position of hall monitor over the summer break and was awarded it! It is a great honor, and it is a duty I take very seriously! I do not wish to start our year off on the wrong foot, but I will not tolerate rule breaking of any kind, no matter what you or anyone else may think of the matter! If you do not like the rules, you can take it up with the headmaster! Is that understood?!"
Mondo stares at the boy like he's grown another head, something about his clipped and proper words so fucking strange to him. He's like- like a fucking computer or something! Or an old-fashioned scholar! Shit, he's never heard someone sound so fucking proper before, and it's just... weird. And his words... Jesus Christ. He actually is a hall monitor, isn't he? And he's proud of that fact.
Mondo lets his eyes dart down to the boy's outfit then, taking it in in an instant, snorting when he sees that he's actually wearing the school's stupid as shit uniform. Fuck! School hasn't even started yet, and besides, the uniform is fucking optional for Ultimates. Which this boy must be, right? The reserve students are kept in a separate building than the Ultimate students (which is so fucking stupid, but whatever), and unless this kid somehow broke in, he prolly belongs here or something. And he somehow doubts that he'd go against the order to keep separate from the Ultimates, given his words about following rules and shit... and, oh, shit. He's a goody goody, ain't he? Ha! How fucking rich! And he has the fucking gall to try and lecture him...? Ha!
Finally over the weird fugue he'd entered into earlier, Mondo lets himself laugh, cold and cruel, not letting the almost miserable expression that overcomes the boy's face at the sound sway him. Though, fuck... he certainly is expressive, ain't he...
Pushing that thought away since it's fucking stupid as shit, Mondo smirks and decides to fuck with this little bitch ass loser, who can't even handle looking at him, his fucking eyes now glued to the ground like the pathetic loser he is. After all, he absolutely loves fucking with fucking hall monitors. Bastards, thinking they can get him to follow the school's dumbass rules, trying to fucking control him, shit. They all break in the end, though, realizing real quick that he's just not worth the effort.
He never is.
"Jesus Christ, yer actu'ly bein' serious, ain't ya? Damn, you some goody two shoes, then? Shit, don't tell me we're in the same class, are we? Ah, fuck, goddamnit. Can't believe I'm stuck with such a fuckin' tightass, shit fuck."
He watches with dispassionate eyes as the boy's shoulders stiffen further at his words, misery clinging to him like a coat or something. It... it's strange. He'd looked so strong and impassioned earlier. He honestly would have thought this boy would have held out longer against him than this. It shouldn't surprise him, though. No one can hold out long against him. They're all too fucking afraid.
Well, good! They fucking should be! He's the biggest and baddest motherfucker around, after all! He always has been!
(He has to be.)
This is why it shocks the shit out of him when he watches the boy puff himself up, his eyes clearly full of tears with how shiny they are, and yet he still glares like he was born to do it, the red practically on fire as they blaze with righteousness and life. And then the boy has the fucking gall to poke his finger into Mondo's chest, looking for all the world like he's the one who is bigger and badder, despite being an entire head shorter and a lot leaner, even if Mondo knows that he is muscled.
It's honestly super fucking impressive, especially with the tears that still cling to the boy's eyelashes and with how his body trembles, showing his fear.
And it's also infuriating as shit.
"My name is Kiyotaka Ishimaru, and you would do well to remember it! As I said, I do not wish to start any battles, but I also will not tolerate anyone breaking the rules! This is your last warning, if I hear or see you breaking the rules again, I will not hesitate to give you a week's worth of detention! Do you understand me?!"
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Did this... did this boy actually fucking say that?! Did he just fucking threaten him?! Who the absolute fuck does he think he is?! Kiyotaka fucking Ishimaru... shit. He said the name like it is something that should be impressive, like Mondo should know it or something, and yet he has no fucking clue who this little fuckwad is. The name Ishimaru sounds a little familiar, but not enough to ring any bells.
Shit, he's prolly the kid of some rich businessman, ain't he? The kind who thinks they're top shit because their daddy is made of money. Oh, fuck, he hates fuckers like that. Those rich kids who think they're so much fucking better than him, when they sure as hell ain't! He may be a fucking biker and a criminal, but he has a hundred times more honor than any fucking rich kid, with their billions of yen and yet no fucking empathy or compassion for those with fucking nothing.
Oh, he's going to have so much fun tormenting the shit out of this little fucker! Ha!
With a sharp smile he's spent years perfecting to look peak menacing, eyes smoldering with the absolute loathing he feels inside, Mondo leans in, quick as a wink, fucking loving the way that the rich fucker flinches, like the little bitch he is. Not so tough now, without daddy's money to protect him, is he? Ha. Fucking thought so.
Leaning in so close that his lips practically touch the boy's ear, knowing how intimidating that shit is, he hisses out his words, hatred bleeding from his every pore. He's worked far too hard for far too long to let little shit stains like this one think they have anything on him. They don't. They don't. They don't.
He's Mondo Fucking Owada, and. He. Will. Not. Be. Controlled.
Not by fuckers like this one.
"Listen here, an' listen good, ya piece a' shit. I ain't gonna change fer no one, got it? They invited me ta this school, knowin' full well who I was an' who I wasn't gonna be. An' I sure as hell ain't gonna be some prissy, goody fuckin' two shoes, mindin' my fuckin' language like a fuckin' square. Ya have a problem with that, ya can have a nice chat. With my fists. Ya understand? Ya asshole?"
He expects the boy to be shaking in his boots by now, terrified out of his rich kid mind. No one can take Mondo at peak menacing and not be pissing their pants like a little bitch. Certainly not weak ass rich boys like this. Smiling smugly, Mondo leans back, eyes smoldering with his fucking win. Ha. Beat that, motherfucker.
And yet...
And yet...
And yet-
The boy does not back down.
Oh, he's shaking like a leaf, fucking trembling up a storm, but his eyes... god. They hold such fire. Such life. He... he's never seen someone look so alive before. So passionate. It... g-god. Fuck. And his lips... they contort in an awkward fucking way, like the boy (Ishimaru, his name is... is Ishimaru... fuck) is trying to smile and yet it comes out like a grimace more than anything, but it's not- not bad. And his... his words...
"If you must resort to violence to solve your problems, then that is very telling of your character! Rules are in place for a reason, and without them the world would descend into chaos! I will not allow that to happen! If you choose to take your aggression out on me, then I cannot stop you! But I will warn you that I have mastered many forms of self-defense and while I will not fight back, I will not stand by idly! You do not scare me, so if that is what you are trying to accomplish here, you are wasting your time!"
Okay, that is fucking it! This- this fucker-! He's honestly trying to fucking lie to him, saying he's not afraid, when he clearly is?! And there he goes, trying to pretend that he's better than him again, fuck! How fucking dare he?! Does he not know who the fuck Mondo fucking is?!
Well. If he doesn't now, he fucking will soon.
With an angry growl, mind blinded with abject rage, Mondo takes a hold of that fucker's fucking uniform and lifts him bodily, slamming him harshly against the wall. He can hear the boy let out a harsh breath, the air clearly knocked out of him, but he doesn't let that stop him as he presses up as close to the boy as he can (doing his best to not remember earlier, which feels so far away from this moment that it might as well have happened centuries ago). And when he leans in, lips touching the fucker's ear again, he makes sure he sounds more menacing than he ever has before.
He wants to make sure this fucker learns his goddamn lesson.
"Ya goddamn piece a' shit! Ya got no idea when ta fuckin' quit, do ya?! I tried ta be nice, but now? Yer pissin' me the fuck off! Do ya have any idea who the fuck I am?! I'm Mondo Fuckin' Owada, ya goddamn asshole, Ultimate Biker Gang Leader! So, ya might wanna fuckin' reconsider bein' afraid a' me, ya got it?!"
There. That should do it. He can feel as the boy trembles against him, his body shaking like a fucking leaf in a tornado. He can feel his breath as it puffs against his neck, shallow and quivering. There's no way the boy doesn't know exactly who Mondo is now, he'd felt how he'd stiffened when he'd said his name. He can't fucking pretend he ain't scared shitless now! Ha!
Pulling back— eyes and smile full of the smug satisfaction of breaking this fucker's will— he can't help the absolute shock that fills him when he feels something grab the sleeve of his jacket. It doesn't hurt, no, but it sure as hell shocks him. And when he looks up into fucking blazing red eyes, he can't stop the way his hands tingle, wanting to gasp at the goddamn ferocity he finds on that youthful face, though he doesn't.
It... he... he looks so...
F-fuck...
"I have already told you, Owada-kun, that you do not scare me," the boy (Ishimaru, fuck, he said his name is Ishimaru, Mondo fucking knows that) says softly. So softly Mondo almost doesn't hear him. It's such a juxtaposition to how he'd sounded earlier that Mondo almost feels shaken, unease rising in him even as he forces his nostrils to flare, a mimicry of trying to intimidate that he absolutely does not put any heart into.
Because... holy shit. It's not often that someone actually fucking throws him for a loop. This boy— Ishimaru— looks so fucking weak. Deceptively weak. With his large, watery eyes, and his prim and proper get up, and his fucking insistence to follow the fucking rules. Most people like him that Mondo has met have crumbled like a house of cards when pushed against, and the strangest thing is that Ishimaru had. He had crumbled, he had fallen, Mondo had seen him with his utter misery and fear.
And yet...
Well.
And yet, it seems Ishimaru is the type to pick himself up when he falls. The kind who does not allow himself to crumble. The kind who... who...
Who never knows when to quit...
Now, why does that sound so fucking familiar...
"I do not care what you do to me. I have faced more than you can ever know, fighting for what I know to be right. You can beat me all you want, but I will not back down. I will persist! My mother taught me to stand up for what is right and true, and so I shall! So, do what you like, Owada-kun, I will not stop until you and your band of criminals is brought to justice! You have my word on that!"
Huh. Fucking... huh.
Mondo should be furious at the words. He should be blindingly angry. And he is, he knows he is, he can feel the anger rise in his eyes, can feel as Ishimaru shrinks down, even with how fiercely his eyes (his fucking eyes) still blaze. There he goes, pretending he's better than him again, pretending he's actually as righteous as he masquerades himself to be. Mondo should hate this boy, this fucking hall monitor, for daring to think he can stand up to the likes of fucking him. He should. He should.
And yet...
Hm.
He can feel Ishimaru tremble against him as silence echoes through the hallway. He can see the fear, the terror. And it's not like people have never looked at him like that before, far fucking from it! He's seen every fucking expression of fear on people's faces right before he beat the shit out of them, so he knows fear. He even knows defiance in the face of fear, some shit stains not realizing that Mondo can abso-fucking-lutely break every bone in their body without facing any fucking repercussions whatsoever. That defiance always goes away after he teaches them a fucking lesson.
And... fuck. That's what he should do to Ishimaru, ain't it...? Teach him a fucking lesson. Pound his fucking teeth in, make sure he knows to never fuck with Mondo again. It... fuck. It's what he always does when faced with such absolute pieces of shit. It's what he knows better than anything else. How to make people fucking respect him, especially those who think they're better than him. It would be so easy to teach Ishimaru a lesson, he even said he wouldn't fight back, Mondo knows this.
So... why does he feel so strangely reluctant to do that...?
Well. Fuck. He can't let this fucker get away with his defiance without doing something. He didn't become Japan's most notorious biker gang leader by letting people say whatever the fuck they want to him without any fucking consequences. And he knows, okay? He knows he's prolly fucking up his chances here at Hope's Peak, knows this little hall monitor will tattle on him to the headmaster the first chance he gets, but he- he just... fuck, he just doesn't care. He's spent too long building himself up to be the biggest and baddest motherfucker around to let it fall apart now. He refuses to let himself be so goddamn weak. He's not weak! He's not! He's fucking not!
He refuses to be.
Even if he gets kicked out of school. Even if he gets thrown in jail. He refuses to be held down. To be controlled. He refuses. He fucking refuses.
Never again. Never fucking again.
Pulling his fist back as far as it can fucking go, Mondo prepares to punch the lights out of Ishimaru, firmly ignoring the roiling in his gut at the very thought. It doesn't matter. It just... it doesn't matter. He's never shied away from teaching fuckers lessons, from putting them in their fucking place. And he- he won't now. He won't, he won't, he- he won't-
Mondo feels all the air leave his lungs when Ishimaru finally fucking breaks. He knew the fucker would, he's seen it coming this entire goddamn time, shit. He's been so clearly terrified, eyes full of tears that he stubbornly refused to let fall, it was only a matter of time before he crumbled; before he broke. Mondo thought he'd feel satisfied when it finally happened, like he always is when rich fuckers break like piñatas at the sight of his fists. He... he thought-
But no. No, no, no. Fucking... no.
Satisfaction is the farthest fucking emotion from his mind when he sees Ishimaru flinch back so hard his head slams into the wall, not that the hall monitor seems to notice it. Not with how hard he's crying now, honest to god crying, tears streaming down his face. Mondo should hate the boy for his weakness, like he always hates such shows of weakness, but- but then Ishimaru is raising his hands, like a fucking child, uselessly blocking his face as he tries to make himself as small as possible, like he's afraid, like he's terrified, like he- l-like he-
Suddenly, in his mind's eye, Mondo can see another little boy. No older than five. He's crying, screaming, begging his da to stop, to leave me alone, to please don't hurt me, da, please. He looks so scared and pathetic and afraid, god, so fucking afraid. His older brother is held up at school and his ma is passed out drunk on the couch, and he's alone, so goddamn alone, only anger and rage and fear as his companions. He can see the boy get hit again and again and again, the relentless fists not stopping no matter how hard he begs, no matter how loud he screams, his bones breaking but his heart breaking worse. The little boy is terrified, so scared that he's about to die, that his old man won't stop, won't stop, won't stop until he isn't moving anymore, isn't making noise, isn't- i-isn't- isn't ruining everything, g-god-
Mondo doesn't like to think of that boy. He hates that boy, as pathetic and weak as he is. He keeps that boy locked in a cage, so deep inside his heart he can't ever be free, wrapped in anger and rage and defiance.
He hates that boy so fucking much it burns him.
But he can't hurt him. He...
He can't hurt him.
_He's not his father, he's not his father, he's not his fucking father, he's not, he's not-_
Mondo doesn't even register the pain in his fist as it slams into the wall, as unnerved as he is. He's not thought of that boy in fucking ages, hates letting him control him. Nothing controls him, he refuses to let it, and yet he... he let the boy control him now. Let... let this boy control him. Ishimaru. With his red eyes, and his endless defiance, and his fucking fear. He...
He should hate him. Hate him, hate him, hate him.
So...
Why doesn't he?
F-fuck...
He has no idea how much time passes before Ishimaru's eyes open, shock clear within them, even as more tears leak out. Mondo is breathing heavily, his breath fucking trembling, but he can't make it stop. Ishimaru looks so open, so completely open, his face an open book that makes Mondo want to fucking cry, even though he's not cried in years. Not since Dai-
He doesn't. Cry. He's stronger than that, no one will ever see him cry again, he promised that eons ago. Ishimaru, he can cry, he's allowed to cry, but Mondo isn't. He just... isn't.
So, he doesn't.
But he can't just do nothing. Ishimaru is staring at him, through him, and he can't do nothing. So, mind fucking blank, he says the first thing that comes to mind, like he always does, and hopes it's not fucking stupid as shit.
Leaning in so very, very close again, he whispers his words. Soft and deep and fucking meaningful. He- he wants Ishimaru to feel this. He... he wants him to... t-to...
"I'll hand it ta ya, Hall Monitor. Ya got some serious fuckin' balls. But take this as yer last fuckin' warnin'. Fuck with me again, and I ain't gonna miss next time. Do you understand me, Ishimaru?"
He doesn't know why he says that last part. Why he mimics Ishimaru's earlier words, why he allows the accent he's built himself up over the years to fade as something much more... different takes its place. He's a good mimic, can copy accents after hearing them only once, and when he mimics Ishimaru he sounds almost respectable, which is so fucking weird, shit. But... not bad. Not... shit. Shit. Just...
Shit.
He can feel as Ishimaru shudders against him, the motion radiating through the hall monitor's body and into his in a way that shouldn't be pleasant, shouldn't feel good, but— well. Well.
Suddenly, he can't take it. Being close to the boy. Pressing up tight to him. His insides are so fucked up, his guts squirming like he ate fucking worms for breakfast, and he just... he can't-
He can't fucking handle it.
Tearing himself away, Mondo watches with burning eyes as the boy fucking crumbles to the floor, like his bones have turned to rubber or his strings have been cut. He's still crying, the tears falling freely down his face, staring blankly at the floor. Mondo can feel his hands shake at the look, heart aching softly, everything in him frozen and breaking and bleeding. Ishimaru looks so weak sitting there, like a pathetic child, and Mondo should hate him, should hate him, should fucking hate him, but he can't hate him, he can't hate him, why the fuck can't he hate him?
G-goddamnit...
Ishimaru looks up then, looking so fucking despondent that Mondo hates it, and he knows he has to fucking say something to just... end this already. He can't stay here any longer. He just... fucking can't.
Steeling himself up, pushing everything the fuck down, he speaks. His words are quiet, because it seems like he has to be quiet here, lest he break something so impossibly fragile. He can't be kind, all the kindness inside him was beaten out before he was old enough to talk, but maybe he... he can show some form of mercy.
His old man never did.
But...
He is not his old man.
"I'mma leave this here, ya got me? I ain't the kind ta hold grudges, not 'less I hafta, so I ain't got any problem lettin' this slide. I ain't no fuckin' bully. But ya cross me again, I will fight back. Got it?"
He wants Ishimaru to say something. To say he won't let him break the rules, that he refuses to back down or- something. Anything.
_Anything to show that Mondo didn't break him irreparably, oh god-_
But he doesn't. He just... he doesn't.
Instead, Ishimaru just... just fucking nods. Weak. Dull. Lifeless. Far from the passionate creature he had been minutes ago, before Mondo had broken him. Like Mondo breaks everything. People... people break so very easily. He'd learned this a long time ago. So, so long ago.
He wishes Ishimaru hadn't broken too.
He had been so alive.
Fuck.
He shuffles awkwardly and watches with a softly aching heart as Ishimaru curls his legs up to his body, hugging them tight, like they're his only lifeline. He's not looking at Mondo now, his dull eyes staring at the ground listlessly, no longer leaking tears but still full of so much heartache it's not funny. It hurts so bad to look at him, and Mondo just... he can't. He just... fuck.
Turning to leave, Mondo sighs softly, pausing one moment as his eyes drag dispassionately across the name tag for the room beside his own, before he begins to walk away, knowing that the kindest thing he can do is to just... leave Ishimaru the fuck alone. Let him gather the pieces of himself and maybe... maybe put himself back together. And maybe now he has finally learned his lesson and won't try to control Mondo again. Mondo should be happy at the thought. He should be.
He isn't.
Typical.
It's as he's almost at the end of the hallway that he stops, not even really sure what makes him do it. He just... can't leave it here. He owes Ishimaru nothing, absolutely nothing, but... well. He knows he's fucked up here today. He let himself get lost in his anger like he always does, and he's been burned. But he's not the only one who was. He... he's not the only one.
As soft as he can manage, he lets the words out that have been building inside him since he saw Ishimaru crumble to the floor, breaking something within him that he hadn't even known had once been part of him. His voice is weak and pathetic, but, for once... he doesn't really care.
It's what Ishimaru is owed.
"... you, uh. Yer pretty fuckin' brave. Fer a Hall Monitor, that is. Ain't a lot a' people who can go toe ta toe with me, even fer a couple a' minutes. So, uh... yeah. See ya 'round, I guess. Neighbor."
With that, Mondo finally sweeps away, leaving the moment in the hallway behind physically, but never mentally. He... fuck. He doubts he'll ever be able to forget the sight of that boy, once so full of life and light and passion, crumbled so pathetically on the ground, all because Mondo had cut his strings.
All because Mondo is a fucking monster.
Why had he ever thought he could be anything different?
He doesn't belong here. He... he knows that. He's always known that. From the minute he saw the letter, he knew it was too good to be true. That a piece of garbage like him could never be allowed such a gift. He's not even been here a day and he's already ruined everything. Ishimaru will eventually pick himself up and he will tell the headmaster what Mondo had done, and Mondo will be forced to leave. This is sure to happen, he knows it. And he fucking deserves it, shit. Monsters like him shouldn't be in places like this. Gilded and shining and bright. Ishimaru, now he... he belongs here. Him, with his pristine uniform and his formal speech and his good grammar. Mondo has no idea what his Talent is, but it's prolly a good one. One with meaning. One that will send him far.
God, Mondo wishes he could hate him. Him and his rich kid life, and his prolly loving parents, who taught him good morals and good grammar and how to be good. Mondo didn't really have that. He had Daiya, yeah, and he'd never trade the life he had with his older brother for nothing, but he also had his old man. And his ma. And he...
Shit.
Shit.
Just... shit.
Mondo enters the first bathroom he can find, marching over to the sink and washing the blood off his fist. It doesn't seem like he broke anything more than just skin, but it will still likely hurt like a bitch for a while. Good. He wants it to. Wants it to fucking ache.
Once it's as clean as can be, he goes into the first bathroom stall he finds and grabs a handful of toilet paper. It's the thick kind, the ones he'd used to nick from the store just to see if he fucking could. He has actual gauze in his room, but he- he can't go back there, he just… can't. Instead, he wraps the makeshift gauze over the bleeding knuckles, watching with a perverse satisfaction as the bright pink blood soaks the formerly white paper. It's oddly hypnotizing to watch as it spreads, really. He allows himself a couple of moments to watch it as it goes, before he keeps going, wrapping enough toilet paper around his wound so his blood doesn't get everywhere. He exits the toilet stall then and freezes when he catches sight of himself in the spotless mirror, unable to look away, no matter how much he wants to.
God... fuck. He looks so utterly pathetic, doesn't he...? Yes, his hair is up in his typical pomp, and his eyeliner is on, as fierce and menacing as ever, and his lips are pulled down in a deep and angry scowl, which is good, which is normal, which is him, but-
But his eyes. His eyes. They... they betray him. Their light lavender hides nothing as he stares at himself, the face of a pathetic child staring back at him. So utterly pathetic. And weak. And worthless. And nothing, absolutely nothing. All those words his da called him as he'd beat him until he couldn't see. All those words that would ring in his head, long after the bastard abandoned them, late at night when he couldn't drown them out. All those words he knows to be true, true, the absolute truth.
He's so fucking worthless it's not even funny. The only thing he has to his name isn't even his.
It's Daiya's.
Daiya built the gang up. Daiya created it from scratch and made it something so fucking impressive. Daiya was the one who was smart and good and amazing. Not... not him. Fuck, not him.
And Daiya should be the one who is here. At Hope's Peak. He's the true Ultimate Biker Gang Leader. Not Mondo.
Not Mondo.
Mondo can feel tears build up in his eyes as he thinks of his brother, but he forces them the fuck down and scowls at himself in the mirror. He forces his eyes to follow the motion, the lavender following his command after a couple moments, completing his look once more. He's not a little boy. He's a man, or close to one, and he refuses to let himself become that child again. He's more than that. He's better than that.
He must be.
He doesn't know what time it is when he exits the bathroom, other than he's prolly fucking late for the stupid orientation bullshit Hope's Peak is making them do. He'd say to hell with it and just skip, like he always fucking does, but... but he finds himself meandering in the direction of the gym, where he knows they're expected to go for the instruction part of their orientation. He doesn't even mean to, he just... does it.
(He refuses to acknowledge the thought that whispers he does it to see if Ishimaru is there, to see if he'd been able to glue himself back together yet, if he- if he's not still broken into teeny tiny little pieces.)
(He isn't. He isn't. God, fuck, he isn't.)
Mondo walks into the orientation late, not bothering to answer the fucking teacher when he asks where Mondo was, just taking a seat between a teen who is too fucking fat and another who actually looks kind of decent, what with his bright orange, clearly dyed hair, and the white punk jacket, and whatnot. He's not the kind of dude Mondo would normally speak to, but he seems decent enough. He even makes him laugh with a snide comment about one of their new classmates, which makes him okay in his books. He calls himself Leon Kuwata, and it's not a bad name, he guesses.
(Sure as hell ain't Kiyotaka Ishimaru. Sure as fucking hell ain't that...)
Ishimaru is staring at him. He can feel it. His eyes are livelier now than they had been as he talks to the two people in his group, a fragile looking flower of a girl and an utterly unremarkable boy. But they're still so, so empty. So distant. They don't have the passion from earlier, and he- he kind of hates it. He knows he shouldn't be looking, but he can't help how he chances a glance every chance he gets, watching the boy as he raises his hand every other minute to ask question after question after question. It should be annoying. And it kind of is, even the teacher looking frustrated by the end, but- but it also kind of isn't, and that sentiment seems to be true for so many fucking things revolving around Ishimaru, doesn't it? Ishimaru keeps looking back at him, like he knows Mondo is staring, and Mondo knows he should stop, shouldn't let his unease be so fucking noticeable, but- well. He can't help it. His eyes are drawn to the fucking boy like he's a magnet or something. It- it's really fucking annoying.
And it also isn't.
Jesus Christ.
Eventually the lecture part of the orientation ends, and they are led around the school, Mondo not so secretly watching that fucking boy as he looks at the school around him with wide eyes. He's clearly trying to pretend he's not so blown away by the school, but he's such a bad fucking liar, shit. Mondo doesn't really see much of the school itself, not with how drawn his eyes are to the back of Ishimaru's fucking head.
His hair is so fucking stupid and lazy, no care put into it at all.
Mondo wants to hate it.
He can't.
God fucking dammit.
Eventually the tour ends, too, and he's allowed to head back to his fucking room, the goddamn thing that started this whole fucking mess. Mondo doesn't want to, wants to go out and ride his hog, but he knows he shouldn't do that until at least tomorrow, to give his fist a little time to heal. He usually wouldn't care, but he just... he doesn't know. He's tired. So goddamn tired. While the room makes his fucking skin crawl, making him want to tear it the fuck apart, it's at least somewhere relatively safe. Maybe. He hopes.
He gets jolted from his doze on the ridiculously comfortable bed (that he hates, too, wishing it were just shittier, fuck) an unknown amount of time later by the sound of the doorbell ringing. He frowns at the oddity of it and waits a minute for something to happen. He doesn't know what he's waiting for, exactly, but when nothing occurs, he honestly considers just ignoring it and going back to sleep.
And yet...
Something in him is too curious to let it lie, so he gets up with a loud sigh and slumps over to the door, swinging it open without a care.
When he sees no one in the hallway, he gets kind of pissed off, thinking it was some kid playing a fucking prank on him, shit. But since there's no one in the hallway— whoever it was prolly having fled to not get caught— he figures he should just let it go and move on. With another annoyed sigh, Mondo moves to close the door, only to pause when his eyes catch sight of something on the ground, right before his doorway.
With a frown, Mondo bends down, wondering what the fuck it is, since it's sitting innocently in a brown paper bag, the kind loving parents pack school lunches in so their children don't fucking starve to death. He never got such a thing, and only ever got such bags on shitty occasions. Literally. Shit, it's not shit, is it? That would happen sometimes at his old apartment— the one he rents at a steep discount since he'd saved the owner's life once—which was located in a shitty fucking neighborhood. He'd have thought Hope's Peak to be above that kinda shit, but who knows?
However, when he opens the bag cautiously, he can't help but blink when he sees the contents. It- it's...
First aid supplies...?
Huh. Yeah, it fucking is. It's a spool of gauze, a sleeve of a few ibuprofen, and a fucking ice pack. Who the fuck...?
It's then that Mondo notices the note in the bag, which he takes out with his non-injured hand, feeling strangely nervous about reading whatever is written there.
And as he reads it, the handwriting so fucking neat he'd think it was printed if it didn't have some ink splotches from a malfunctioning fountain pen, he can't help how his heart starts racing for reasons he firmly doesn't think about.
Owada-kun,
I brought you this for your fist. I hope it heals soon.
Sincerely,
Kiyotaka Ishimaru, class representative.
Huh. Fucking... huh.
That stupid fucking hall monitor... actually brought him some first aid supplies for his fist, all because he wanted him to heal soon. Fucking... huh.
Unbidden, Mondo cannot help how he stares at the signature, his thumb absently running over the kanji without his brain telling him to.
A myriad of pure summers, huh...? he thinks to himself absently, feeling so very wrong inside but not knowing why. Sounds about right. He sure fucking reminds me of summer...
Shit.
Mondo shoves the letter into the desk drawer he doubts he'll ever fucking open again, content to ignore the fucking note as best he can. But it's not like it matters.
He's already memorized it.
(And he'll never fucking admit it, but the ice helps. He already had some gauze and some pain pills, but... well.
Fuck.)