Everything was happening too fast. Ochako could feel her heart beating in every fiber of her body. She fucked up. Her hands shook with every move she made. She couldn't breathe. Everything was happening too fast. Her head was spinning and her vision was more than a little blurry, but the last thing she was worried about was herself. She looked at Katsuki and yelled to him, telling him to go because it wasn't safe here, but she couldn't hear herself and it seemed he couldn't either. Honestly, she wasn't sure that she said anything. He stood so still, just watching her with his eyes wide—not scared, there wasn't anything that told her that he was scared. He was probably shocked, if she was in his position she'd be shocked too. She fucked up.

But she had to finish what she started.

She turned back to the disoriented man, and swung her foot hard, kicking him back down. Quickly, she ran her hand up the side of her right thigh, feeling for her garter. Her hand stopped when it brushed against a cool piece of metal—her knife. Daddy always told her that most women kept a knife in their purse—but a smart woman keeps one on her hip. Her next moves happened instantly, and all of the years of studying and training and waiting and having moments like this flooded her mind. She flipped the man on his back and stood on him, crouching down and slicing the back of his ankles. While watching blood seep out from the back of his legs, she noticed her own dripping down her face. "If I was anyone else," she said, standing up and moving off of the man, "you'd be dead." She gave another swift kick to the man, and a loud cracking noise echoed through the alley. "But m'fuckin' Daddy got me this jacket."

She stared at him for another moment before turning her eyes away, and was immediately met with a pair of bright, shining red eyes—innocent eyes. "It was m'favorite one," she half-heartedly explained, before walking towards him. Her feet felt heavy in her shoes, and her heart felt heavy in her chest, but she walked on with just a ghost of a smile on her lips. She almost tripped over herself, but she righted herself and continued walking, only to find him coming closer towards her.

"Hey! Slow that shit down," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and slinging one of her arms across his shoulders.

"Ohh~" she practically purred, "you're touchy."

"Shut up."

"Why should I?"

"You have a concussion."

"Not my first one." He stopped walking, looking at her with narrowed, concerned eyes. He pulled away from her, resting both his hands on her shoulders and sized her up, taking her in. "Shouldn't have said that, huh?" she laughed, looking at him with hazy eyes. She couldn't see too well—but she didn't miss the glint in his eye, the soft slouch of his shoulders, the way his jacket hung on his body too loosely to be right but tight enough to stay on him. She saw him. And he was prettier than anybody she'd seen on any magazine—not that she'd seen too many of them.

"How many times has this happened to you?" he asked, slowly and clear.

"Dunno," she answered truthfully, "more times than I can count."

"Why?" Because she was a part of a dangerous world and sometimes bad things happen and that's why you shouldn't involve anyone else. Because she was small and round and she looked like an easy target. Because she was Denki's sister and if they wanted to get to him, they had to go through her. Because...because shit happens sometimes. "...why?" he asked again, and there was that shine to his eyes that only appeared when he talked about his parents or when he started drawing; she swore it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. It reminded her of a rose, petals wet from a rain that didn't weigh anything down. Just wet and dewy and pretty and bright and so very red.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered, touching his face with the back of her hand.

"What the fuck?"

"You're a beautiful person, Katsuki." He quirked an eyebrow up before shaking his head angrily, slinging her arm back on him a little too rough—nothing she wasn't used to.

"You have a fucking concussion."

x

Ochako reached for the door handle to the car, but was intercepted by Katsuki who pulled her away. She looked at him, slow and hazy, but determined, brown eyes locked and fierce. "Oh, b'by," she said softly, and she wasn't sure if she could talk louder if she wanted to, "Always drive."

"Ochako," Katsuki said, putting his hands on her shoulder and locking eyes with her, "you have been fuckin' concussed! Ain't no way in hell I'm going to let you drive." She rolled her eyes—and it fucking hurt—and stepped up to get into the car, but fell back, dizzy. "Shit!" she heard him say before he caught her, holding her against his body tightly. Her feet were too heavy to move, and her legs buckled under her, though it didn't matter because he was here and he had her and he wouldn't let her go. Her eyelids grew heavier, the weight of the lashes and the word resting on them suddenly becoming too much for her. She watched him—Katsuki?—say something, but she didn't hear him, preferring to sink into him more, his warmth enveloping her—protecting her. She gave him one more look, though her vision was so blurry, she couldn't see anything but those innocent, red eyes, staring back at her with that oh-so-charming glint.

x

The first time she awoke, she found herself in the backseat of her car, the roof intact but the windows rolled down, the cool night air touching her skin. She was moving. She opened her eyes and found the world blurry, clearing up with every second but not moving fast enough. She wasn't driving. She sat up in the back seat, her brain throbbing against her skull, causing her to clench her teeth. Her hand instinctively went to her thigh.

"Whatever you're planning, cut it out," Katsuki said from the front seat. Ochako let out a breath, grateful he was driving, confused on where she was or why she was there, but grateful all the same.

"Sorry," she said, leaning back into the seat.

"Go back to sleep. I'm taking you to my apartment cause I don't know who the fuck is at your place and I don't plan on having you go all super-mafia-assassin-psycho again." His tone was short, words clipped and afterwards a silence hung over them that she wouldn't dare break. He...he knew. That was it. He'd found out the truth about her in the worst way possible—she'd put him in danger. She could've died tonight—he could've died tonight.

She fucked up.

"I—" she started, her voice hoarse and tired. She needed to explain, to tell him everything. If she did, he'd understand, right? She wasn't bad—she did bad things but that didn't make her a bad person—she wasn't a bad person. She was good. She did her taxes—she baked cookies—she had a fuckin' garden behind her house and grew organic tomatoes. He had to know.

He had to know that she wasn't bad, that she was born into something bigger than her—something that could be so beautiful if you looked at it right. It gave her a second chance, a re-do with different parents, different struggles and different triumphs and—and—and it saved her.

If she told him, he'd understand...right?

"Don't."

That shut her up.

"I just want some time to think without anything fuckin' insane happening, okay?"

She could agree with that. The night had been pretty crazy for someone so green. Going in the danger district, all flashy and clean would be wild enough for anyone—even a model baby. Katsuki probably has never experienced something like that before...he wasn't ready for it. She bought him into her would and it shocked him.

She could respect that.

She didn't want anything fuckin' insane happening, either.

She lied back down, eyelids not heavy but eyelashes wet and watery. Hopefully, when she woke up, she'd be back home and he'd be with her, sleeping peacefully and not angry about anything.

Hopefully.

x

She awoke to yelling through thin walls, a sure fire sign that she was not in her house. The walls were covered in pictures—drawings and doodles and sketches, some of them half complete. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and noticed she didn't have her shoes on, her feet noticeably lighter. Her legs dangled over the side of the bed before she slid down, feet meeting the warm carpet quietly. Her head hurt and the yelling hurt her ears, but she stood anyway, pressing her head against the door. Suddenly, the yelling stopped, and she could feel the tension in the air get thicker through the door.

Well, fuck it, right?

She walked through the door and found Denki looking at her, his brown eyes watery and enraged. Katsuki was in front of him, his back turned but she could feel his angry glare through her brother's eyes. She opened her mouth to speak and felt it close, but fuck, she couldn't be silent anymore. "When I was sixteen, someone threw me and Denki in the backseat of some van and dropped us off at some warehouse in the middle of nowhere. They stuck my fingers on a hot metal plate and that's why I got these scars on my fingertips. They tried to do the same thing to him—"

"'Chako, c'mon, you don't got—" Denki said, but she wouldn't stop talking.

"—so we wrestled and the dude kicked my ass, but Denki was able to get their gun and he shot them, really quick. My grandaddy found us and took care of us and made us strong." She stepped closer to Katsuki, touching his face and looking him in his bright, red eyes. "Katsuki, he loved us. He was the first person to ever love us and be able to take care of us. Do you know what it's like when the people who love you can't afford you and when the people who can't afford you are dead?"

"You're—" he started, but Denki spoke up.

"No fuckin' way he knows what's the like, 'Chako. You're wastin' your fuckin' breath."

"It's not a waste!" she screamed, clenching her fists. "Things were goin' so fuckin good!"

"Good? Good!? Ochako, you could've fuckin' died tonight and he didn't do anythin—"

"What could he do?!"

"He is right fuckin' here!" Katsuki said, losing his temper. "He's been right fucking here! And he got her fuckin' here safely and that's e-fuckin'-nough!"

"Can we just talk about it?" Ochako asked, her voice cracking slightly. Denki sighed heavily and walked out of the apartment, not bothering to listen to another couple's squabble. If anybody needed him, they would know where to find him.

"I met someone who was so fuckin' sweet, and nice, and fuckin' pretty and seemed like the most genuine, down-to-Earth person I've ever fuckin' met. And—And I fuckin' knew that something about her wasn't right, 'cause there's no fuckin' way that she can keep up with her lifestyle if she just some fuckin' perfect girl! That girl is a monster—she's—she's a—"

"She's a killer and a gangster, right?" Ochako said, running her fingers through her hair, frustrated. "So that just makes me a bad person?"

"Killers and gangsters are arguably two of the worst things you could possibly be!" Katsuki argued back. "It's like...like I don't know you!"

"I'm still the same girl you met at the tattoo shop," she said, her voice soft. She was never one for arguing, anyway. "The same girl you went to breakfast with. I haven't changed."

"And I just need some fuckin' space. Some time to think or somethin'."

And that...was okay. It was probably the most okay-est thing to happen all night. Ochako inhaled a deep breath, ready to respond, but she let it go, unable to argue. She's never been good at arguing, anyway. She turned around and left out of the apartment, without her shoes and her jacket destroyed, another reminder of who she was. She exhaled again, dragging her feet out of the building and into the car, starting it wordlessly. If she were being honest, she was fine with this. There were always going to be people like Ochako, people thrown into a life that was beyond belief—and there were always going to be people like Katsuki, people who just couldn't understand.

And that was okay.

It was better this way.