He wore a garland of moonlight.
No matter where I turned, how deep the water became, his eyes seemed to find me, wading into the shallows, reaching out with pale, slender hands.
But I was drowning; I had been for as long as I could remember.
"You promised not to save me."
The hands paused. The grey of his eyes shifted.
His mouth opened to answer-
"You blabber a lot in your sleep, you know that?"
Consciousness hit me like a slap to the face.
Almost as hard as the fact someone was perched in my bedroom, just feet away from my defenseless form, making note of my sleeping habits.
"You slobber, too. How disgusting."
"Wha- 're you-" I coughed, sat up and drew the thin blankets with me. "What are you doing in here?"
"Don't you know? You're our newest little party member. It would be rude of me not to introduce myself more formally." His emphasis made clear the sarcasm, compensating for his lacking expression due to the lifeless hand grasping his face. I ignored his visible flinch when I leaned over to grab my thermos. Did he think I was going to touch him?
After day six and at least four dozen water bottles the thermos had appeared, filled with iced water tasting of a filter. I suppose it was Kurogiri's doing. Weirdly thoughtful, for a villain.
"You're Tomura Shigaraki, leader of the League of Villains. I know who you are."
What I still didn't know and hadn't thought to ask, though, was why it was his face that haunted so many of my nightmares before. I looked at him now, taking in his features.
Bones seemed to jut out at every angle. He wasn't malnourished like Toshinori, but...slight. Gangly. I noticed, with more than slight discomfort, the similarities between his dark clothing and the outfit I had been given and still wore, deterred from returning to my original dress by its caked-on blood stains.
Tomura Shigaraki's hair was the color of ice, outgrown and disheveled around his face, the fingers sprouting between tufts like weeds.
But the most startling aspect was his skin.
I could practically feel the plates rubbing against one another, molting like a snake left under a heating lamp with too high a wattage. His entire body felt this way, revealing the skin beneath the hand without him every having to remove it. This sensation, the noticing of his dried flesh, brought the sound of my blood to a crescendo more so than any other event since I'd arrived.
What's wrong with him?
We were nearly polar images of one another, from the color of our hair to the tone of our skin. Like the sun and the moon, similar and yet living in entirely different realms.
"Quit staring at me, trash." He hissed beneath the hand. Old Chiyo would have jumped, blushed and apologized.
New Chiyo was too exhausted for those antics.
"Why do you wear that hand on your face, and how do you keep it from decaying?" I could feel its bloodlessness from this distance. The other hands- the ones I didn't remember but had described in the notebook- were absent. Had he worn them when he destroyed the video store? "There isn't blood in its veins, but there is some sort of liquid in the base."
"What a neat trick," He said snidely.
Funny; I had thought the same phrase about Kurogiri just the other day.
Shigaraki crossed his legs, his arms, unconsciously drawing in on himself. "It serves many purposes; a reminder, comfort. Plus it really compliments my style, don't you think?"
"If you're just here to mock me, leave." I wasn't in the mood for this. He snickered; again a tinny, unsettling sound.
"Someone isn't an afternoon person."
Damn. It was afternoon? Then again, what did it matter- I had nowhere to go. Indefinitely.
"Why does Kurogiri sit outside or around this room all day? Will the Nomu attack me if he doesn't, or something?"
"The Nomu only attack who I tell them to. Master forbid me from putting you on that list, unfortunately."
Doesn't exactly answer why Kurogiri is sitting out there, though. Maybe it was his own uncanny attentiveness to a house guest.
Not that this was a house.
And I didn't particularly feel like a "guest".
More like a vagrant wanderer caught between places, unsure where home had disappeared to.
Maybe he's lonely with just this brat and the beasts for company.
Shigaraki continued to stare at his newest zoo attraction. Feigning sleep probably wouldn't be enough to get him to leave, so I blandly returned his stare.
"Why so glum, huh? Sad without your mommy?"
"Just get out," I abandoned modesty and moved to leave the bed. Even without pants, the (his?) shirt reached past my hips, but just barely. "I don't want to play your little games."
"Probably had enough of those games with your hero friends and that psycho Mom of yours, huh?"
"She's not a psycho!" My mouth shouted to its own accord. I jerked back in surprise; too late. For the first time I noticed the red of his eyes, watching me in gleaming amusement.
"Defending her? The woman who washed your head out and refilled it with her own selfish beliefs? Pathetic."
"She was just trying to-" To what, exactly? I sighed. "It's none of your business, anyway."
"On the contrary!" He gestured around the bedroom with open arms. "These are my digs. And as my guest, you'd do well to show some courtesy to your benevolent host."
Isn't the discombobulated voice in the tv the true host, though? It seemed too dangerous an animal to poke. I found the discarded pants in the bathroom, neatly folded on the edge of the tub. Kurogiri was definitely more considerate than his ward.
"Mom- she loves me," The words dragged out on chains, begrudging in the light of day. "I think Kotaro fucked her up. What she did was wrong," I sat back on the edge of the bed closest to him, staring at his shoes. They matched the color of my emotions but something else, too. Where have I seen shoes like this before? "But I know she loves me. My childhood was happy. I was- I was happy, most of the time."
But again, how much of that was fabricated? My hands smoothed across my cheeks, pulling them into a deranged face lift.
Which parts of me are even real?
"There's no such thing as love." Tomura informed without feeling.
Wasn't there? Surely- I'd felt it before; when she came to every band performance, teary-eyed in the front row with a bouquet of carnations. Snuggled close watching animated movies she surely had grown tired of, happy so long as I was.
But she'd taken a sledge hammer to what I thought was reality. Would I ever know what was true, which feelings were false? What had awoken me the first time?
The spiral took pause as I took in my uninvited guest's body language. Without a face to view, everything had to be gleaned from the tightness of his limbs, the concave of his hunched shoulders. Even his heart seemed harder to locate, pattering too quick, like a child's.
I had never seen someone so guarded in my life.
"Some emotions are stronger than others. For me, it's the burning hatred I have for everything that annoys me. I will destroy everything I hate. It's my right."
Hatred fueled him?
If I learned to hate Mom enough, would the memories reawaken?
"What causes your hate?"
He seemed caught off guard by the question. I twisted my legs onto the bed, tucking them beneath me.
"My aversions to quirks and heroism were fostered by my mom- I understand that now. And with what happened to my mom, I could see how she wouldn't trust heroes. Why she would hate them. So, what about you?"
"You think this is some gab session, where we pour our hearts out to one another?" He cast a laugh, though not as effective as his others. "What's next, you want to braid each other's hair?"
Deflection; a typical, defensive tactic.
Considering his position of power, regardless of what Master forbade him to do, I decided against stoking the already-crazed fire.
"Is this where you really live, or is it a decoy in case I turn into a psycho like my mom and try to kill everyone?"
Though, truth be told, Mom had never tried to kill me. There were different types of psychotic, I presumed.
Shigaraki laughed as if I'd told the best joke of the century. "You? Who would be afraid of you?" The hand quaked with his snickers. "It's in case he tries to show up and "save" you again."
No one was coming to save me. I didn't waste the energy to express this; instead I let out another tired breath, unwound the lid of my thermos. "Give me your hand."
"Touch it and die."
My eyes fought so hard to swivel around their sockets I deserved a damn medal. "I meant one of your hands, the kind attached to your body. Either one. I can't handle the feeling of your skin a second longer."
I didn't think he would; everything in his body language spoke against the idea, arms still tightly crossed over his chest. I waited, bored, until ghostly fingers reached across the space between us.
The notebook mentioned quirk training, but without those memories I relied on muscle memory and years of regulation, leading the water over his skin, submersed the molecules into his pores. Already my shoulders were slumping from both fatigue and relief. The cracks began to close across his limbs, even under the hand on his face. He had to feel better; I certainly did.
He didn't thank me. I hadn't expected him to. Instead he marveled at his open palm.
"You're a healer," He mumbled. "We don't have a healer in our party."
"I only did what a bottle of lotion could do."
He didn't answer. But he didn't leave, either. We continued to sit parallel to one another, caught in a strange hiatus.
Who was Tomura Shigaraki? How was he connected to the voice in the computer? He couldn't be much younger than I was.
I broke first in the overwhelming silence.
"So what now? You're using me as bait to draw out All Might?" The "hidden agenda" was as hard to spot as Toshinori himself, in all his primary-colored glory. "If he comes, what will you do?"
"We'll kill him."
He scoffed at my skepticism.
"Did you think those little peon Nomu were all that was left? Oh, no. When he comes, we'll be ready."
Again, neither he nor Master seemed aware of All Might's less-than-perfect form- the one he seemed to utilize the most, given how much time we'd spent together. Even if there was another Nomu, I harbored doubts All Might couldn't still come out victorious.
Unless there's multiple.
The fear registering my face drew another tittering laugh and a shiver snaked down my spine.
"Why do you hate him so much?"
"Why don't you?" Shigaraki threw his arms open again. "Look around you; look at the world these false heroes have created! They decide what's good, what's evil? How are his actions any different from my own? And yet his are praised, while we fester in the shadows. Heroes chose to save Father, and let you suffer the consequences."
Gran Torino caused me suffering, certainly. How old was Toshinori at the time?
But more than that- how had I been lumped into this mix of ideological bullshit? Was he using my life to justify his own hatred? What had happened to him? Knobby knees were shaking, as were his hands.
He's riled.
"You and I aren't so different, Tsutomi. We're two sides of the same coin. Forgotten, thrown away by those around us." He leaned forward, nearly toppling his chair in the process to stare me down. "There are no heroes. No one comes to save people like us."
Is he right?
"You...You should get some ointment, for your neck. If you keep scratching it'll become infected." The bed was pressing against me, using its own force to demonstrate how tired I had become. "I can try and submerse more liquid into it tomorrow, if you want."
Shigaraki made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a grunt. A twang of memory flavored my mouth- what a student-like reaction, too immature to articulate his actual thoughts.
"Take a bath. You reek like a corpse."
If All Might really is their goal, what is the After?
I fell back onto the bed, alone with my thoughts after Shigaraki slumped from the room. The inertia of the door was softened by the waiting Kurogiri, who caught the handle before it could slam shut.
Would they simply kill me? I served no real purpose; sure, I was the granddaughter of some big-whig from decades past, but what use did that actually serve? They hadn't asked me to join their little team, not that I had any interest in doing so. They were fanatics, drunk on their own self righteousness.
Toshinori had betrayed my trust, but in no world did I want him to die.
But what can I do?
I glanced at the door, felt for presences other than the ever-wavering one of Kurogiri somewhere nearby; perhaps in his own room. No footsteps, the tells of another's existence, responded. With silent hands I hefted one corner of the mattress and retrieved its hidden contents.
After the meeting with "Master" I had embellished the pages concerning Mom, adding notes and various scribbles of points. Why had Kotaro tried to drown her? Surely there were easier ways to kill someone; especially in a public place. Were the drowning nightmares born from that experience alone- to keep me safe from the same happening to me?
It made the bathtub all the more ironic as I filled it with steaming water, stepped in to stew myself in its embrace.
Every page had been written in pristine detail: the attack on the USJ, my job at UA, the bonds I had made, followed by page after page of assumed causes of the tremors and amnesia. I'd written in red ink, underlined three times: The trigger.
What trigger, though? Why hadn't I just wrote out what the fuck it was? A word? An action? I lounged over the side of the tub, staring hard enough to burn a hole through the graphite-laden pages.
Some emotions are stronger than others, Shigaraki had claimed. Was that the answer? What emotion? A life's worth of movies and comic books told me anger or fear couldn't be the key. So what, then?
I thumbed through to the most mysterious section of all my tangents.
Shota Aizawa, known as Eraser Head. As rational as he is lazy.
Why had I spent so many pages taking notes on him?
Someone has pushed my desk back near the door, I see. If I time my lecture pauses correctly, I can just catch when he glances across the hall.
Was something hidden between the lines, invisible to my fogged brain?
A certain proclivity will be his downfall.
It didn't make sense; none of this made sense.
The last five words on the final page.
Are you really a damsel?
He hadn't stopped me when I left. Why?
But the way he looked at me, spoke my name as if it were familiar; too familiar to simply be the instructor next door.
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
I picked up the notebook, ready to submit its contents into the water and wash away any possibility of acquiring the life of Before, when something at last caught my eye.
Folded into a perfect square, no larger than my thumbnail and the exact shade of blue as the front cover, disguised and taped to the inside. A note.
The markings were slender, scaled down to fit the square of blue paper, but written in a steady, purposeful hand.
There are eighteen seeds sewn across your body
And just when I think I know what will bloom
You burst into an orchard of unimaginable color.
The second before a storm, the air changes.
You can feel it; the temperature, the taste. How your very breath suddenly feels heavier.
And then, the deluge.
Shota Aizawa, glaring at me from across the interview table and destabilizing my blood flow.
Shota Aizawa, catching me in the park, smile so boyish my pulse raced out of submersion's grasp.
Shota Aizawa, telling me to protect our students. Are you really a damsel, Chiyo?
Shota Aizawa, holding me close, breathing soothing murmurs into my hair, touching me so softly my heart burst from its casing, jumped from my chest and into his.
"If my ribs are attached to your spine, it means yours are mine."
"Chiyo Tsutomi?" A loud banging shook the soaked bathroom.
No, not soaked.
The water was floating, a million shards of memory, transfixed in space until I could collect every last one.
"I'm coming in!"
How had I forgotten?
A cloud of indigo burst through the door, freezing at the sight of the frozen rain and the girl standing in its midst, bare chest heaving with each acquired remembrance and realization.
Shigaraki had been correct, about the strength of emotion.
He just hadn't chosen the right one.
"What is the meaning of this?" The water disappeared into Kurogiri harmlessly, but I could feel each molecule, right before the vanishing.
I'd made Shota Aizawa promise not to save me.
He wouldn't- and shouldn't.
Kurogiri turned in surprise; the deluge looked back.
I was no longer the damsel.
He couldn't let her go.
The final page of the notebook, torn from the rungs, just as the directions requested.
If you've found this, I've been taken.
I know it's hard, and you'll want to fight for me, but you can't; I have to do this.
You're the reason I broke free, Shota. From the overzealous pushiness to the way you looked at me, my heart raced at every turn.
I didn't learn regulation on my own- it wasn't the well-kept secret I thought. She taught it to me. And it was only through you that I figured it out, what it felt like to let go.
That rainy day you found me in the park, I was caught in one of her hallucinations, punishing me for wielding my quirk. I'd thought of you and resisted. It was the first time I ever fought back.
I still don't understand everything- what exactly she does to me, how to reverse it- but I know the way you make me feel was enough, even before I fell for the laziest, grumpiest man with the best eye-crinkling smile on the planet (I don't feel like that's an exaggeration, so your eye roll is unwarranted).
I know you'll find me, with Manami's help. Remove this page and give me the notebook.
If you tell me, I'll never believe you. I have to find my own way back.
He followed her directions. Every step gripped him in a vice until breathing became a conscious effort; the absence of teasing in her eyes, replaced with indifference. Her choice to follow Tomura Shigaraki into the darkness.
He'd removed the last page but added another in its place, breaking her commands.
And now, with a week dissolved and still no sign of Chiyo Tsutomi, he knew with full certainty he would not- could not follow them.
He would not let her go.
Final exams demanded his attention; as soon as they were completed he would continue the pursuit, spend every waking hour looking for the vanishing League of Villains until he found them- found her.
He had just freed his student from the capturing weapon's binds when a familiar blonde cockatiel flew into view.
"They found her. We've found her, Aizawa."
Shota Aizawa moved as if Death itself nipped at his heels; this was it.
A hand squeezed the life from his arm.
Two, actually, one on either forearm with enough force to bruise.
She had looked so defeated, before; ever since the Sports Festival. But the Momo Yaoyorozu looking at him now was nothing less than formidable. "You're not going without us."
"This isn't open for discussion-"
"If Ms. Tsutomi is in trouble, we're going, too." Shoto Todoroki had never so much as raised a hand in class, let alone one to a teacher. His fingers nearly scalded through Aizawa's shirt. "If you try and stop us, we'll follow you."
Ridiculous- ridiculous. "Just because you helped-"
"You had nothing before we became involved," Yaoyorozu didn't let go of his arm, even when he tried to pull away. "You can't go in alone, anyway. You'll need support."
"Support from actual heroes; you aren't qualified, you aren't even licensed-"
"So put us in squads with the pros."
He could see now, why Chiyo favored Momo Yaoyorozu so greatly.
They were both mindlessly impossible.
"The mission is simple- locate Chiyo Tsutomi, extract her from the premises, and engage as few hostiles as possible. This is a search and rescue; you are not, under any circumstance, to deviate from the given plan or your squad. Your mentor is in charge at all times. Failure to comply will not only result in your expulsion, but quite possibly your death."
This was, without any doubt in his mind, the worst idea in history.
And yet her entire task force had already assembled across the school's entrance, stronger than any security or iron gate and just as stubborn, refusing admittance until they were involved.
Nothing would have stopped them from following her.
"Squad One, led by Midnight: Hitoshi Shinso, Minoru Mineta, and Itsuka Kendo. You will land first for reconnaissance; incapacitate any security forces with stealth and minimal encounter. You have been chosen for your individual talents and will be utilized as Midnight sees fit. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Squad Two, led by All Might,: Izuku Midoriya, Ochako Uraraka, Katsuki Bakugo; you will act as the battering ram and will be accompanied by Squad Three, led by Present Mic. Shoto Todoroki and Mashirao Ojiro, you will act as the assisting force to Squad Two. Again, we want minimal engagement with hostiles. Under no circumstances should you act on your own- always follow the direction of your squad leader and only engage upon their permission. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Squad Four, led by myself: Momo Yaoyorozu, Tsuyu Asui, and Tenya Iida. We will act as the extraction team. Our job is to locate Chiyo Tsutomi and immediately withdraw. The sooner we are successful, the sooner all squads will be able to pull out. You have been chosen for your wit, quirk abilities, and relation to the hostage in question. Under no circumstances shall you deviate from my orders. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir!"
There was no reason for them to be involved, dressed in their individual gear with faces of steel and unwavering conviction.
"These are not robots, or a regulated arena. Given the chance, these villains will kill you without a second thought," All Might warned. "You are not weak if you remain behind; there is no judgment against logical fear."
It was not Momo Yaoyorozu or even Izuku Midoriya who stepped forth, but the smallest among them, standing as tall as All Might himself.
"She would do it for us."
The clock was ticking.
Time was of the essence.
Operation Submersion had commenced.
