It takes several days to fall into a new schedule with school out and Aizawa-sensei returning to hero work. It only takes about two to realize how much I miss school. I'd never been particularly fond of breaks; they often meant more time avoiding Niko or following around Kagura. However, with Sensei, they mean an almost endless period of quiet activities while he sleeps off his hero work.

I'd done okay at first.

Being quiet isn't something new. But, it's… it's harder now. Harder than I ever remember.

With no one to talk to, no tests to study for, and too restless to read, I'd taken to finding things to do. I bake, rattling around dishes until Sensei grumpily comes out to tell me to stop. I try and draw and waste dozens of pages on messy scribbles I can't stand to look at, balling them up and tossing them on the floor. Miska chases them everywhere, pushing them under furniture, ripping them to shreds, and tracking them all over the floor. Sensei had scowled petulantly when he'd woken to that mess, eye twitching and lips thin.

"Clean it up."

"Fine," I'd huffed, just as annoyed back.

Training in the afternoons hadn't been much better. Sensei spends nearly all of his time with Shinsou during those. I mean, that's fine, by then I'm usually tired enough of him to happily put 20+ feet between us. But my chest aches as I watch the two of them interact so comfortably.

Shinsou doesn't get on Sensei's nerves, Shinsou doesn't cry and huff.

Shinsou doesn't destroy an entire grove of trees.

"Hoki, the idea is control," Sensei snaps, hair floating and eyes burning red. He turns towards the place where the massive, shadowy behemoth charged through the woods and glares. With it now vanished, the flattened half-acre looks more like a natural disaster.

"I'm trying," I snarl back at him. His nostrils flare. "It isn't easy!"

"If a technique isn't working, stop doing it and try something new," Sensei says flatly before his hair falls and he blinks his eyes. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his eye drops and immediately applies them.

"No shit," I mumble under my breath. Aizawa splashes the medicine on his cheek as he shoots me a sharp look.

Shinsou, perfect stupid Shinsou, just scratches his neck awkwardly to the side looking completely overwhelmed. That'd been happening more and more as he'd watched me unleash and fail to control my shadows.

I huff and glower and turn away, continuing to practice.

So when we finally take a break, I almost don't want to. I scowl and huff and sit on my own, not even sure why I'm so annoyed. Shinsou comes over hesitantly, two waters in hand, and offers me one.

"Hey. You okay?"

"Sure. Fantastic," I snap at him.

He raises an eyebrow and I sigh, taking the water. My body throbs from the training. Fresh scratches collecting on my back, my arms mottled and discolored with yellows, purples, and greens. I'd forgotten how much training hurt.

Or maybe I'd just gotten weak.

It's been a hard month.

"Sorry."

"It's fine, but what's going on?" Shinsou asks, untwisting the cap to drink his own water.

"Frustrated," I grunt.

I suck down half the water before replacing the top. Placing it by my feet, I lean forward and press my head against my knees. They're sweaty and hot and I can smell the stink of training along with the heavy fragrance of pine.

"Why am I always so bad at everything?"

"Hey, that's not true," Shinsou says and he slumps into the spot beside me.

I don't move my head, but I know the way my eyes cut to his, he gets the message.

Yeah right.

I suck at everything. At math and people and emotions and controlling my quirk. I can't even make Sensei happy. I can't do anything right.

Maybe that's why they didn't want me?

I suck in a breath and close my eyes.

If you weren't so weak, they could get more. They wouldn't fight.

You didn't even try. You're the only one with powers, and… and Ryu's right! You don't even care!

"It's not," Shinsou says, and his words come a little more harshly as he bumps my shoulder. He's just as gross, stinks just as strongly, and his skin makes a disgusting squelching noise as it sticks, and he pulls away. "Stop getting in your head. You'll get it or whatever, just try something different."

"Different," I sneer. It'd be easier if I were different. Why can't I be smart like Shinsou? Why can't I just be good? I swallow and close my eyes. Shinsou frowns. "It's not that simple."

I breathe deeply, in through my nose and out through my mouth, and I try to control the different emotions warring in my chest.

"Hoki-"

"Rin," I correct automatically, not bothering to open my eyes.

"What?"

He sounds almost confused and I sigh again, scowling.

"Call me Rin," I grunt. Do I really have to explain this?

"Jeez, that's forward," Shinsou says. I finally look over and he hesitantly smirks back. I know what he's doing, trying to change subjects. "What if I don't want to?"

I wrinkle my nose at him. He huffs and leans back.

"Rin, I dunno, feels weird. Oh, speaking of names, I've been meaning to ask you, what'd you pick for your hero name?"

I flush and he grins.

"Oh, now I know this is gonna be good," he says, and he grins. "Come on, spit it out."

"Nightmare," I mumble, looking away.

His grin falters and dies.

Ruin some more stuff, why don't you?

"What the fuck."

I glare and he glares back, face twisting in annoyance.

"Let me guess. Because you're a nightmare. That's fucking bullshit," he all but snarls.

I shove him over and rise to my feet.

"Shut up," I snap down at him, hands shaking. I pushed him. Why did I do that? Why would I do that? Why can't I do anything right? "J-J-Just leave me alone."

I stomp and rush away and he glares at me from the ground. Behind me, I can hear Sensei's groan. I turn and scowl at him too. He makes his way to Shinsou first. Of course, he does. Why wouldn't he go to Shinsou? He actually wanted him. They talk in low tones and I turn to the forest, shuddering in the heat.

I rake my nails down my exposed arm, drawing out three red lines and letting the shadows bubble up. This time, I don't try to form tentacles. Five snakes with fiery, black tongues cross the ground and curl around the tree. I let them, pretending for a moment it was Asp. They attack with a vengeance, fangs digging into the barks, and searing sharp lines across the earth in their path.

"Oh look, I controlled five of them," I snarl to no one in particular. I drag my hand through the air and they transform into a hand, it looks demonic with black smoky skin and shadowy nightmarish claws.

It rips the tree from the ground. I toss it away with a wave of my arm.

"That's enough."

"Of course it is," I snap. The hand dissolves but smoke rises from my skin. No congratulations or good job for you! Why would he? You just pushed Shinsou! What is wrong with you? Stop! Sensei's eyes narrow and he takes a deep breath, the sound of it rushing through his nose. I cross my arms, trembling. "What?"

"What's wrong now," he asks, and the question grates.

Now. Because there's always something wrong, isn't there?

I say nothing, throat closing and lips tightening.

Tears spring to my eyes unbidden. I scowl, hands clenching into fists. He notices and his lips drag down further. I wrinkle my nose and spin, putting my back to him as my lip quivers.

"Rin," he tries again.

"Look, Sensei," I spit if only to have something to cover the silent tears now dripping from my cheeks. I wave at the destroyed tree while discretely wiping at my face. I refuse to turn around. "I controlled five of them."

There's a pause.

"The point of this isn't to destroy the landscape," he says flatly. My throat tightens as if that hand had dragged its nails all the way to my stomach. "You can control far more than five if the idea was simple destruction. The purpose of this exercise is to find a way to control more than two and not flatten the surrounding area."

I bite my lips and sniff.

So in other words, you failed.

"Rin, please look at me."

I don't want to, but I do. It's a nauseous feeling. I want to be good. Why can't I just be good? I turn slowly and Sensei frowns, bending forward to my height. His hand reaches out and grabs my shoulder. His eyes narrowing as he stares.

"Now what's this actually about?"

I can't help it.

"I can't do this!" I cry, burying my face in my hands. He blinks, his clothes rustling as he straightens. "I can't do anything. I try and it fails, and I can't even make my- my- my-"

Sensei exhales loudly, cutting me off.

"Do you need a hug?"

"Yes," I mumble.

He makes no motion, but I recognize the invitation. In a few steps, I cross the space between us and bury my face in his chest, arms circling his waist. It's uncomfortably hot from the summer sun and I can feel the heat radiating off his black costume. He's sweaty too, but he smells like detergent and safety and I can't help the little sob that climbs up my throat. Behind him, I can hear Shinsou cough. Sensei's hand presses against the back of my head, fingers in my braid.

"You're done for today," Sensei says.

I splutter.

I pull away and stare up in horror.

"No, I- Wait, I'll do better- I-"

"Enough," he says, tone final. The hand pulls me back to his chest. "We'll address this when we get home. There's only an hour left, come sit and meditate."

When I pull away, he lets me. And then, he turns and returns to Shinsou.

And my chest aches.

And it feels like I could start crying all over again. And I don't want to go, and I want to scream, but I already have to quit an hour early and if I do I know there'll be consequences and… and…

And there's nowhere else to go.

So after a long, lingering pause, I follow him over, stopping several feet from them both and laying down in the itchy grass under the shade of the tall pines. I can feel their eyes on me. I can all but taste the judgment there. But I ignore them, focusing instead on the low buzz of insects and chatter of wildlife.

"Use one end to aim, like that, good. Don't overextend or you'll pull a muscle-"

Lulled by Sensei's dull tones, I fall asleep.

.

.

.

Our return home is a quiet, moody affair.

By the time we arrive, I think he's given up on conversation altogether. I just trail beside him, lost in my head until we arrive and he orders me to shower. I don't speak as I grab my clothes and shower. Sensei frowns, his eyes lingering on the bug bites now covering my legs and arms. That's why you don't sleep on the ground in the woods. I ignore him, lock the door, and clean myself. The shower helps. I scrub away the sweat and grime, scratching incessantly at my bites until some of them bleed and the water washes it away.

Honestly, the nap probably helped too.

And by the time I finally get out, I feel a little more like me.

It's probably petty, but when Sensei immediately gets in next, I can't help the little smirk of satisfaction when I hear him hiss through the door. Meaning the water's probably gotten cold.

And then I scowl, because, what am I doing?

Pull it together, I tell myself sharply.

So I start dinner instead.

By the time Sensei appears, damp hair still wrapped in a towel, I'm nearly finished sautéing the vegetables in seasonings and the chicken has about ten more minutes. I pull out the plates, start plating what's complete, and we settle into our new evening routine as he puts on a pot of coffee.

Except he doesn't. Normally he'd leave then, go complete some paperwork he'd picked up from the school or finish the cooking himself. But he doesn't. He just stands to the side and watches, eyes dark and facial expression bored with arms crossed as he leans against the wall. I ignore him, not really sure what to do or why he's staring. And by the time everything's together and the table's set, I'm somewhat surprised—hurt—he's moved on.

If I could talk like Shinsou, would he have stayed?

I push away the thought and grimace. Shinsou had been gone by the time I woke.

That had hurt too.

You shouldn't have shoved him if you didn't want him to leave.

All you do is make people leave.

"Food's ready," I mumble to the hallway. I rinse the pans and sit, waiting for Sensei to return. He does so shortly, a first aid kit in hand that he sets on the other side of the table. I glance at it uncomfortably before turning back to my food.

Maybe he hurt himself when I was asleep?

I eat and try to discretely check for injuries as I scratch. There's nothing apparent, but it's hard to tell with his black shirt and sweats in the way. So I try to watch how he moves; I hadn't noticed a limp on the walk back, but nothing obviously presents itself there either. No flinches or stiffness or anything I can visually see.

Or maybe it's for tonight? Does he think he'll get hurt on patrol?

That idea makes me nauseous.

"Rin, whatever you're doing, stop it and eat."

I flinch and turn away.

In the corner of my eye, I see Sensei rub his eyes. We eat for several more minutes in a strange quiet, the only sound that of utensils and food being scraped around the plate.

"Grab a paper," Sensei says abruptly, and It takes me a moment to realize what he's talking about. The baby shower gift. We hadn't used the jar in… days? Weeks? I do as I'm told, opening the top and pulling out a paper.

At least that's something I can't screw up.

"Who is your best friend and why," I read quietly.

Sensei sighs.

Well, so much for that.

"Yamada-sensei and Midnight because you've known them the longest," I supply sourly, not glancing his way. I can tell he disapproves.

"I believe the purpose of this is to create conversation," Sensei says drolly.

"Yeah, well looks like I messed that up too," I mutter crumpling the paper. I leave the balled-up question on the table and return to my food. Sensei makes a frustrated noise in his throat.

"Do you intend to do this all day?" he asks, folding his arms.

My lips tighten and I chew robotically. He says nothing and eventually, I swallow.

"I don't know. What?"

"Really? Where should we start? The refusal to make eye contact? This passive-aggressiveness? Or maybe the fact that you manifested a 20-foot monster today in training with no real explanation? As for your comments, you can be assured I have every intention of addressing those after dinner."

Thoroughly scolded, I stare at my plate, shoulders falling, and I don't look up.

"My closest friend is Hizashi," Sensei says tightly after a long moment. "Not only because I've known him the longest, but because at sixteen he was there with me when we buried our other best friend."

I blink and look up sharply. Sensei stares back, his eyes rimmed in thick, bloody veins from where he'd had to use his quirk today. He meets my stare remorselessly, face impassive.

"What… What was his name?" I ask, mouth dry.

"Shirakumo."

His expression doesn't change, but I can hear the pain in Sensei's voice. Guilt rises up, shame, and a strange combination of other emotions. I feel that familiar urge to run, to hide, to go anywhere but here. I finish my food and move to rise, but his hand covers my own, stopping me.

"Sit down. It's your turn," he says gruffly.

Who is your best friend and why?

It's an easy question. I know the answer just as readily as I know Sensei's.

"Shinsou," I reply, returning to my seat.

"Why?"

Surprisingly, even that requires little thought.

"Because… Because he's easy to talk to. And because he was there, and I trust him."

"I'd suggest you tell him that," Sensei says, and I bite my lip as he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. He takes a deep breath. "You're not the only one that struggles with low self-esteem."

I swallow.

"Yes… Yes, sir."

"Good, now wash your plate and sit on the couch."

I do, grabbing a blanket from the closet and settling in my corner. It takes him only a few minutes to finish his food, and I scratch incessantly at my irritated skin. When Sensei finishes, he washes his dish, grabs the first aid kit, and joins me.

But he doesn't sit down.

"Put the blanket aside."

I frown but do as he says. He sets the kit beside me and flips the latches with a loud snap.

"I'm going to touch your leg," he says, opening the container. I'm surprised to see a large assortment of everything, bandages, creams, and large bottles of antiseptic. "If at any point you feel uncomfortable, you need to use your words. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I mumble and his calloused hand wraps around my ankle.

It's weird and warm.

"I understand that you were pouting," he says, opening a cream and spreading it across the finger near my ankle. He replaces the top and the leg changes hands. He starts dabbing the cream on the raised bites. "but next time choose a better location to sleep off your emotions. You're covered in bites."

I watch, somewhat dazed, as Sensei meticulously covers each raised bump in a thick white ointment, his lips thinning when he notices several open and scabbed. He says nothing though, and the cream is relieving and cool. I relax slowly as the irritated, itchy sensation is gradually replaced by his soothing touch.

"I… I can do it," I mumble after he makes it to the fifth one. "Why… Why are you-"

He looks up and scowls. His hand, however, remains gentle as it continues applying the cream.

"You've had all afternoon to do this," Sensei says flatly. "My only logical conclusion is you either didn't know to ask or this is another case of your self-inflicted injuries. So, no, I will do it, and next time you will not sleep next to a pile of ants."

I grimace, or at least try to, but it's hard when it feels so good.

Self-inflicted injuries.

But you will explain it because otherwise, I will assume this is a self-destructive manifestation of the abuse you've suffered.

"What… What do you mean self-inflicted?" I ask quietly.

His eyes narrow and he doesn't look up, instead switching legs. He starts near the ankle and begins applying the cream.

"Look at your arms."

I do. They're tanned, mottled in bruises, and cracked with scars. They look like they always do, though also dotted in red bumps and three thin scratches.

"Sir?"

"In three days you've managed to cover your arms in bruises and added three new scratches. Do you think that's acceptable?"

My mouth dries.

"It's… It's how I summon my quirk."

"It's one of the ways," he says, and he gently releases the leg and collects more of the medical ointment. "Give me your arm."

I do, and he takes it just as tenderly as he did my leg, fingers wrapping around the wrist in a light hold. He begins applying the cream to my arms and I lean into his touch. He says nothing and does nothing to stop me.

"You've also formed tentacles without doing that. You don't have to hurt yourself to create them, you choose to because it's familiar and ingrained. You said your mother pinched you as a child to summon them."

I don't know how to respond.

In the bag. You have one minute, or she'll kill you.

"Is… Am- Am I in trouble?"

He releases my arm and silently holds out his arm for the other. I move it and his eye twitches when I sigh audibly in relief.

"At this point, no. But if this continues, you will be. Rin, this isn't okay. Do you understand that?"

"I… Yes, sir," I answer quietly.

"You aren't allowed to hurt yourself any more than you're allowed to hurt others. This pinching and scratching and damaging yourself to the point of scaring your body," his finger, not the one in cream, but a different one, moves across the puckered edge of my scar. The same one I got trying to save him. "It needs to stop. Your mother was wrong for ever hurting you, but you're wrong if you allow it to continue."

I hang my head and sigh.

"Yes, sir."

Sensei finishes putting the cream on my arm and sighs as well.

"Are there any other bites?"

I nod.

"Where?"

"My stomach and back," I admit quietly.

"Show me," he says flatly. He turns away to add another small amount of cream to his finger. I pull up my shirt and he frowns at the eight small bumps across my naval. He applies the ointment gingerly and I squirm, ticklish.

He smiles.

"Turn around."

I do and lift my shirt much higher. His breath snags and I jump when his fingers trail across the skin.

I immediately move to lower my shirt. He stops me, his hand bunching around the fabric and holding it still, fingers hold it firmly against my neck. The heat of his gaze searing across my skin as he stares at my back.

"S-S-Sensei?"

"Rin," he says, and his voice is tight with emotion. "Your back is covered in scratches. Why?"

"My- My quirk," I squirm. "The claws…"

"This is what Yaoyorozu brought to my attention the first day? You said it was nothing, Rin, this is not nothing."

I flinch as cold cream presses against my skin. Sensei pauses then.

"Do we need to stop?"

"N-No, sir."

He makes a low noise and he begins applying the cream. Just like with my leg, Sensei moves in a meticulous pattern, making his way from one bump to the next with logical precision. There aren't as many on my back, but he takes just as long.

"You will inform me when you are hurt, Rin. Physically, emotionally, or otherwise. I know these aren't all from today. Did you clean them properly? This one," his fingers slide over a particularly painful scratch, and I wince, "looks like it opened and bled."

"I… I showered."

"And the pain?" he asks.

"Sir?"

He says nothing and releases my shirt. It flutters down my back and I immediately miss the warmth of his touches. I want him to come back. I don't want him to leave. But he stands instead, returning the cream to the first aid kit and walking back to the kitchen. I turn and watch him go, cold in his absence. He turns on the tap and begins washing his hands.

I fidget.

Is he upset?

"Are… are you mad at me?" I ask slowly. His lips curl downward, and his eyes snap to my face.

"No. I'm frustrated with myself. I noticed your increased agitation but assumed it was due to the change in routine. Have you been in pain from this since Monday?"

I squirm.

"Y-Yes," I mumble, cringing. Sensei's face darkens. He dries his hands and returns, locking the first aid kit and picking it up.

"Are you in pain now?"

"Y-Yes, sir."

He scowls and leaves the room, putting the kit back wherever he found it and I wait nervously on the couch, wondering if we're done here. Something rattles from his room though, and he reappears, walking into the kitchen and pulling out a glass. He fills it water and I just stare, confused.

"Come here."

I do so hesitantly, shuffling across the floor. When I'm close enough, he hands me the glass and I take it silently. He holds out his other hand and my eyebrows furrow at the little blue pill there.

"It's pain medicine. It should help with the swelling and reduce the inflammation." My eyes fill unexpectedly with tears. His lips thin. The words that cross his lips, full of exasperation. "Why are you crying?"

Because you care.

I take the pill and swallow it down with a gulp of water.

"Thank you."

"You didn't answer my question," he says, taking back the glass. He rinses it in the sink and leaves it there.

"You're… you're really nice," I tell him quietly, sniffing.

"For giving you pain killers," he comments dryly. "A discussion for another day. Go sit down, we still need to address your other comments."

"Yes, sir."

I return to the couch and curl up on my end, pulling the blanket up to my chin. It's warm and comforting and I wait. When Sensei sits, he takes his usual place. I consider taking the spot next to him but decide against it. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Instead, he moves his arm to the back of the couch and leans crookedly to the side, hair pulled back and eyes half-lidded.

"Explain to me why you think you're bad at everything."

I shrink into the couch and he waits.

"I… I don't know," I mumble frowning.

"Then list something you are good at, and this time exclude being quiet."

I flinch.

"I don't know," I whisper.

"Did you not enjoy your food?" he asks flatly.

"I… well, I guess?"

"You cooked it," he says and there's a drawl in his tone as if he finds this entire conversation ridiculous. "So clearly you cook well, or at least you enjoy the taste more than mine. So, logically, just that one item refuted your entire statement. You are not bad at, 'everything.' However, for the sake of making a point, we'll continue. List something else."

I frown and wrinkle my nose.

He makes it sound so childish.

"I don't know," I grumble, lips pursing. I don't think our couch conversations have ever lasted this long. I shift uncomfortably in my spot. He looks unimpressed. "Can… Can we just be done?"

"Do you have somewhere else to be?" he asks annoyed.

"I don't want to talk about this," I say, frowning.

"It made you upset enough to rip a tree out of the ground," he says, lips thinning. "You've become increasingly more moody since Sunday. Considering that's this is the only thing you've confessed to be upset about, I'm assuming it's the reason you've been particularly cranky lately, though now that I know that you've been in pain the last three days as well, I'm not really sure what to think."

"I'm… I'm not cranky," I interrupt, glaring.

He scoffs.

"I'm not," I snarl, and he stares down his nose.

"Watch your tone," he snaps.

Idiot, what are you doing?

My throat closes, my chest constricts, and I bury my face in my arms. Sensei makes a strangled noise and I cry harder.

"Fine, we're done," he says, and when I look up, he's rubbing his eyes. "Go do something else."

I glare, eyes aching, and take the blanket with me as I go to my room. I don't hug him, and he doesn't offer. When I fall on the bed, I cry again.

.

.

.

I don't talk to Sensei for the rest of the evening. I cry and glare and whisper hateful things to my rabbit until I cry again and the whole cycle repeats. I hate it. I hate that I'm this upset. I hate that he's upset. I hate that I don't know what to do.

And I hate that his words keep cycling again and again and again in my mind.

Who is your best friend and why?

Shinsou.

I'd suggest you tell him that. You're not the only one that struggles with low self-esteem.

Eventually, I give up on trying to control the things in my head and I pull out my phone frowning. I pull up Shinsou's contact. And, after a moment of debate, I type out a message.

You're my best friend.

I don't send it, glaring as his voice echoes in my head.

Hoki, really? Do you have no people skills? Can you not even transition into these things?

I delete it and try again.

At dinner, we have a jar of questions that Sensei makes us pull. They're supposed to start conversations because apparently I suck at that too. And tonight, he made me pull one when I ruined yet another dinner. Only, tonight the question was, who is your best friend. And I said you, and Sensei said I should tell you because you have low self-esteem and-

I look at the words and scowl and delete them all.

Why is this so hard?

I groan, snap the phone closed, and close my eyes.

Why am I always so bad, at this?

"Rin, are you crying again?"

"No," I snap, glaring at my open door and the empty hallway beyond it. I stand, go to the door, and shut it. "Guardians."

I'm fairly sure I hear his huff something about teenagers, but I ignore it. I return to the bed and rub my face, annoyed at the tears tracks there.

You're not the only one that struggles with low self-esteem.

I open the phone and glare at Shinsou's name. Then I open a message.

I'm sorry I mess up everything, I type out angrily. But you're my best friend and I don't want you to go away. I'm sorry I pushed you.

I hit send and bury my face in my pillow. When the phone buzzes against my chest, I open my eyes and nervously pull it out, opening it to the message.

Call me, says the short reply.

I twitch and stare.

Don't do it.

You'll just ruin something else.

Slowly I pick up the phone and press dial. It rings twice in my ear before he answers.

"Hey."

He sounds different on the phone, his voice a little deeper and the sound of it more relaxed. I swallow.

"Hey," I mumble, and I can hear him sigh.

"You know, apologizing through texts is bad form," he says. I wince and let out a miserable sigh.

"Sor-"

"So I'm glad you called," he interrupts, completely ignoring me. "Aizawa-sensei and I talked while you were sleeping. Are you upset with me? I mean, besides that mess at the end about the name?"

"I… What?" I frown in confusion and swallow, chest tightening. "No…"

I can hear him frown even if I can't see it.

"See, Sensei said the same thing, and I'd like to believe that, but you spent most of practice glaring at me and that no sounded rather pathetic. You send me a text telling me I'm your best friend, and then you lie to me. Honestly, I'm not sure I know what to think."

I sniff and there's a pause on the other end.

"Are… have you been crying?" he asks, voice dropping.

"Yes," I admit quietly. I take a deep breath and remember Sensei's words. You're not the only one that struggles with low self-esteem. "I… I didn't lie. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at me. I didn't mean to hurt you. I- It's… It's not fair. I can't… I can't do anything right and you're- you're perfect."

I pull the phone away as my lip quivers and I bury my face into the pillows.

There's an uncomfortably long pause in which I try to muffle the sound of yet more cries.

You've become increasingly more moody since Sunday.

"That makes no sense," Shinsou says at last. "And I'm not perfect."

I turn and glower at the phone.

"You can talk to anyone," I snap, annoyed at the crack in my voice. "You hardly ever have to study. You've mastered your quirk. You're strong and funny and-"

"Hey, hey, stop," he says, and there's something odd about his tone. I cut off and he makes a weird noise on his end. "Hoki-"

"Rin," I snap.

"Rin," he repeats quietly. "Rin, you're strong and funny too, or did you forget who wins half our spars? And you're doing better with talking to people. Is… Is this really why you've been upset? Why didn't you just say something?"

"I did," I say, and the anger recedes again. I rub my eyes tiredly and curl beneath the blanket. "I… I tried to. But I'm no good at words-"

"Will you stop that," Shinsou interrupts gruffly. "I get that you struggle, man, but stop putting yourself down. It's annoying. How would you like it if I kept telling you that I felt like a failure because I can't do half the shit you can?"

I blink.

"You… you do?"

He makes a strangled noise.

"That's not the point."

"But… but you're amazing," I whisper. I can hear him slap his face, can imagine it perfectly.

"Rin," he says, and there's a fondness in his tone I've never heard before. Something rustles on the other side followed by a quiet rush of breath. "You're ridiculous."

I flush.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

He huffs on the other end.

"It's fine, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have gotten so upset at the end. But… But your hero name sucks."

I grimace.

"Sensei didn't like it either," I admit quietly.

"I can't imagine why," Shinsou says dryly. I smile a little at that.

"Do… Do you know what your hero name's gonna be?" I ask instead.

"I have a few ideas," Shinsou says as if bored. It's the tone he uses when he wants to hide his pride. My smile grows and a dull light fills the room, the first one I've felt in several days.

"Are… are you gonna tell me?"

"No," he laughs, and I know he's got a smirk on his face. I hesitantly smile as well.

"Oh, well… well, I think you should name yourself Hypno, that… that way when someone yells to you for help, it sounds like they're calling you a hippo. It'll confuse the villains, you know?"

He chokes and I giggle quietly.

"That's awful," he splutters and I know that if he were here, his face and ears would be red. "This is why you shouldn't be allowed to name things!"

I giggle again, this time less shyly, and we fall into a familiar banter. The conversation continues longer than I expect, without the lunch bell or training to get in the way we somehow manage to talk for nearly an hour. Until his phone begins to die and mine shows nearly nine o'clock. I smile when he hangs up, my room bathed in soft light.

.

.

.

After hanging up with Shinsou, I hesitantly leave my room, creeping into the hall and glancing around.

I find Sensei in the living room, cross-legged and slumped, jerking a cat toy so it spins across the floor. The kitten scampers and meows as she chases the feathered end across the carpet. And he smiles at her chuckling lowly.

I think it's the first time I've seen him smile since Sunday.

Shyly, I step out of the hall.

He doesn't turn around, and I move behind him, sliding my arms around his neck and dropping to my knees. He doesn't even twitch.

"Done pouting?" he asks still moving the string.

"Yes, Sensei."

"Good," he says and that's the end of it. I smile and press my face into the back of neck, leaning more fully onto him. His back is warm, his muscles stiff. I close my eyes and lay there. "Are you ready for bed?"

"No," I answer, letting go. I slump to the floor beside him and rest on my stomach, his leg touching my side, and watch him play with Miska. The kitten doesn't even notice my arrival. "Are… Are you happy again?"

The toy pauses and Miska takes the opportunity to pounce.

She grabs it with both paws and flips over, pulling the feather with her teeth.

"What are you talking about?" he asks. He tugs the string, but Miska meows and holds the feather tightly, refusing to let it get away. He says nothing and for a while I just watch him tug randomly at the string as Miska wrestles. When I finally glance at his face. He stares back as if bored. I swallow and look away.

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Have I not seemed happy?"

I glance towards him again, skeptical. He sets the toy on the floor and his entire attention turns to me. I cringe.

What are you doing?

"Rin, answer my question."

I fold my arms and bury my face under them. They smell like medicine, though the cream has by now disappeared.

"No."

A weight settles on my head and another lifts my braid. A moment later the hair scatters across my back and I scowl.

"Sensei," I groan, turning my head to glower at him. "I just braided that."

"Hmm," he says, not looking at all apologetic. He tilts his head and cracks his neck. "I suppose you'll have to sit up and braid it back."

I scowl but he just blinks and waits, leaning back to rest on his arms.

"Fine," I say, pulling myself into a sitting position. I hold my hand out for the hair tie, but he smirks, not moving. "Sensei, I need my hairbow."

"Why do you think I'm not happy?"

I wrinkle my nose and cross my arms. He raises an eyebrow curiously.

"You already know why," I grumble. The hairbow twitches in his fingers and I reach forward to take it. He shifts his weight and moves it to the other hand, now leaning forward. "Give it back."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the dark-haired man states flatly, ignoring my demands. He twists the hairbow in the fingers of his right hand and I frown at him. Miska looks too, curious at the new interactive item since the feather had stopped moving. "Explain it."

I pause and look at him strangely.

"I keep making you angry—upset."

He blinks at that, and I take the moment to lunge forward and grab for the hair tie. It does me no good. He moves it once more out of reach and I just end up falling across his lap. I flush and go to rise, but when he dangles the hair tie in my face. I stop and grab for it again, he pulls away at the last second and I catch air.

"When have I been upset with you?"

"When-" I grunt and swipe for the hairbow again and he chuckles preventing me from getting it. "When I tried to cook. I woke you up."

"Was that it?"

"No," I huff and roll over, my head resting against his thigh and my shoulder in his lap. I cross my arms and stare petulantly up at him. From this angle, I can see the coarse beard hairs growing down his throat. I reach out and touch it and smile for a moment before remembering I'm annoyed and scowling. "I'm not a cat."

"No, you're not," he smirks. "When else have I been upset with you?"

I frown.

"I made a mess in the living room."

"And?"

"What do you mean and?" I ask, lips twisting downward. "I haven't done anything right since-since ever! I just keep messing up and- and- and give me back my hairbow!"

He frowns at my tone and I flush, rising from his lap. I keep my back to him and sigh, hunching forward.

And you've done it again.

"See, like that," I mumble dejectedly.

"I'm not upset with you," he says and the hairbow moves to my shoulder. "Hold this."

I take the black band and stiffen when his fingers start running through my hair. After a moment I can feel the fingers shifting the strands at the top of my head. Warm, calloused fingers move through my hair and I sink a little into the warmth of them.

"Rin, if I address a behavior, it doesn't mean you're in trouble or that I'm mad at you."

"But you were upset," I say, frowning.

"I was annoyed," he corrects simply. "More than anything, I was exhausted. I'd finally gotten to sleep when I woke to banging. I thought there was an attack and you were cooking."

I flinch and he sighs.

Good job, you've managed to ruin yet another evening.

"I'm sorry," I grumble frowning at the floor. "I'll… I'll just go get ready for bed."

"And we're back to pouting," Sensei huffs and I grimace. "Hairbow."

I pass it back and he ties off the end of my hair. When I pull it forward, I'm surprised to find a neat, simple plait.

I pause and hesitate to rise. Sensei notices.

He sighs, exasperated. Then, he uncrosses his leg, stretches forward, and locks his fingers under my armpits. In a single motion, he lifts and drags me back across the rug and into his chest. I squeak at the motion, but he's so warm. I feel so safe the moment I'm against him. I can't help but lean fully into his chest. He reaches forward then, and I move with him as he grabs the toy from the floor and leans back. "You're so touchy."

I wince.

The arm not holding the cat toy wraps around my stomach, pulling me back.

"Sir?" I ask when he shows no signs of letting go.

"Rin, I'm at the point where I'm tempted to make a sign to hang on the wall," he says, and he raises the stick to dangle the feather above Miska's head. She watches it curiously, tail twitching. "I need words from you. I need you to come knock on my door or text me or sit on the couch or even just write me a letter if that's what it takes, but I need you to communicate and stop assuming I know whatever's going on in your head. I need you to tell me explicitly when you're sad, angry, vulnerable, hurt, or frustrated. Tell me when you're happy or excited if you'd like, but if you think I'm annoyed with you, ask. I will never be upset with you for trying."

I swallow.

"Y-Yes, sir."

"What are you feeling now?"

I consider his list.

"Vulnerable," I admit quietly.

"Does this help?" he asks.

"Yes," I answer hesitantly. "But- But you don't like it."

"I'll survive," he says dryly. "I would prefer this any day to listening to you cry for another two hours."

I swallow and close my eyes. Oh.

"Thank you."

He hums and I slowly relax.

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update! I got distracted by future chapters and some sweet little moments. Enjoy!