Chapter Thirteen: Mind's Mouth

The TV was off; Ayumi made sure all she could hear was the sound of her blood rushing, rushing at abnormal rates because of the guilt's effect on her body.

Guilt: the loudest and most vindictive of the emotions.

Ayumi was overrun with it, fidgeting at the desk where finished paperwork piled high. She knew she should've gone to watch Kirishima's match in person, but decided to spare him the turmoil of having her there instead. Knowing the severity of her silver tipped tongue, the brunette expected abandonment next, expected to not talk with the boy as they once had, expected to be shunned by her classmates. But, she was the bad guy either way, as the one who had threatened to kill his best friend and who had cowered out of watching his match after. For all the girl knew, the red head could've been fighting at that exact moment, and all she could manage to do was wallow. The guilt struck at her weak points, Ayumi's hollow spirit giving way to her internal fragility, the lobes of her brain left to deal with her heart's decomposition. She protected it so vigilantly, yet Ayumi was the one who broke herself in the end once more.

The cards couldn't distract her this time; they weren't a sufficient mouthpiece if no one sat to listen. I don't need anyone to, though, so why can't I carry on as always? The sickly girl warned herself of the dangers that came with companionship, and now reaped what she had so artfully sewn. Solitaire for the solitary.

Yet still, even after successfully completing three rounds of the game for the isolated, Ayumi was left yearning. No amount of solitaire or pyramid satisfied her, Ayumi opting to throw the cards out onto the table before her. She sat, and sat, and sat, itching to turn on the TV, but denied such childish desires as a means of preserving what little she had left of herself. And just as the routine went, the girl brought a hand to her bruised wrist, the bone sticking out unnaturally due to the self destructive hemorrhaging the sickly girl subjected herself to. Right hand fingers - she made sure it was the pointer and middle like always - on the left wrist, Ayumi Gabe way to the blood rushing in her ears, tempted to succumb to the stream that kept her rotting body moving.What'll it be this time...

The door swung open, pulling Ayumi out of the transe she had fallen in as per usual. Typical. I tried to run again. Quickly dropping both hands, the bloodshot girl's eyes were confronted with a mass of indigo hair, another type of dread entirely overtaking Ayumi. However, she favored composure over closure, skipping over their earlier confrontation to ask, "Need something?"

The boy's grimace was laced with agony, but nevertheless, he glanced at the askew cards, then calmly questioned, "Up for a game?"

"Sure." Ayumi dealt the two their hands, the brooding yet stoic pair eyeing the ten cards they each had. "Gin rummy?"

"Of course."

The lull of empty sound between the two stung at Ayumi's face and hands, the girl relishing in the pins and pricks she believed she deserved. However, she couldn't waste away during cards, staying alert enough to shout, "Gin rummy!" and throw down her cards before the eye bagged kid could. And then more sticky silence - it clung to Ayumi's coat and skin, pulling at her to scream, or confide in someone, anyone. The cards were stale; the conversation was staler, dry enough to snap with one wrong move.

"I failed." The kid's dull voice shattered the corrosive emptiness between the two. "I failed like they all said I would." Ayumi would've put in her own pointless remark to establish some sort of security for the both of them, but was surprised when her partner of few words continued to monologue. "My class hates me, half the school is scared of me," he paused, locking her eyes with his, "and I was rude to you for no reason earlier. I'm sorry. It's just, all my life I've been looked down on and written off as the kid with the villainous quirk. Do you know how much that hurts in this society that idolizes heroes? I thought you might feel the same as them when you saw I was in 1-C - I don't know why but I did."

Ayumi's hours of kindness, however, were closed for business. She had no comfort for him this time, unsure of what to say next. "No harm done."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. You're fine."

A small smirk settled on his features. "Well, if I want to get into the hero course, I'll have to see a lot of you in the future, won't I? So," the boy held a hand out, his skin's creamy tone rivaling Ayumi's in sickly pallor. "The name's Shinso Hitoshi."

"Bubaigawara Ayumi, but just Ayumi is fine."

"Then I'll be just Hitoshi."

"Well then, just Hitoshi, if you don't have any injuries, I'll have to send you on your way." Ayumi sent a dead eyed glance to Hitoshi, both knowing the boy's real motives for coming. The boy splashed with indigo made his way to the door, waving with his back turned as he left Ayumi once again.

The wide eyed girl had to admit: green and purple could look nice together.

A hand on her left wrist - this time it wasn't her own. The elderly woman gripped Ayumi strongly, forcing the teen into a jog down the hall. She seethed, "When I call you, Ayumi, I expect to be answered!"

The unfocused girl had been passing time at the vending machine between matches, suspended at the hand of indecision with the inability to choose between orange or lemon juice. The blood rushing in Ayumi's ears wasn't a distraction; she couldn't determine whether orange or lemon would torture her tastebuds more sufficiently. Ultimately, the wide eyed girl was juiceless, as Recovery Girl had located her and suddenly strung her along. She grumbled, "I just wanted a drink, old lady."

"And this poor kid wants to keep his health! Maybe you should think about prioritizing!"

"Well maybe he should prioritize his health more over glory?"

Unappreciative of Ayumi's smart comments, Recovery snapped, "Zip it!" Abruptly, the medical hero stopped and rounded in front of Ayumi. She crossed her arms and set a firm stare into her features. Although in person she was about the height of a trash can, Recovery Girl's spirit towered above all others, a goddess who demanded respect. If you didn't worship or offer up, you were on her bad side. Ayumi was a regular on the old lady's bad side.

"Kirishima came into my office earlier knocked out. He called for you, but where were you?" Recovery Girl harshly questioned, however, both knew the answer. "Where were you, Ayumi? Say it with me."

"No-"

"YOU WILL! Say it with me. I-"

"...was picking a juice from the vending machine," Ayumi reluctantly said, cheeks burning in shame, not for her actions, but for the private humiliation she was being put through.

Recovery Girl scowled in a triumphant manner. "You were getting juice! It's so nice to have that luxury while all your classmates are battling it out! So nice!" The elderly woman sighed, turning away. "I understand you aren't motivated. How could you be? You've never had anything to tie yourself to your entire life. No records, no friends, no life - and now you have that." Scoffing, Recovery Girl shouted down the hall, "Do not throw your chance away!"

Ayumi averted her gaze from the miniature lady's booming presence, everything steaming beneath her surface. She whispered, "I...it's all too oversaturated. I can't see through it because I don't have the right damn eyes for this." She let out a frustrated growl of sorts. "You're an angel and I'm scum. I'm scum! Half my class hasn't held a conversation with me, and the ones that have think they know me," Ayumi's fists went white with a kiss of fury at her sides as she yelled, pained, "They don't know me! And you don't either. I-" The girl drowning in resurfaced agony cut her heart off, her mind's mouth forcing her to abandon the cry for help her heart had screamed out. They don't deserve my secrets. The world doesn't deserve my secrets. Ayumi's icy tongue hissed, "So let's just fix this kid who can't set aside his pride for his health."

Three pairs of eyes caught this outburst.

Recovery Girl, caught in a regretful stupor, watched her student brush past her, storming down the hall with a poison in her step. Groaning, the old lady tried to keep pace, but her back wasn't what it used to be. Maybe her heart wasn't either.

From behind the vending machine, Bakugo took note of the little details her flaming words were ridden with. The blonde furrowed his brow in an irritated state of confusion; it was hard to see over the red that invaded the room. But, if anything, he knew the red that bled from her words was something, even if it was just a small detail.

Todoroki, on the other hand, was shocked to hear such words come from the person he merely knew as the girl who sat behind him. Sure, he knew she failed every test and was possibly colder than him. Yet, Todoroki wanted to believe the two had a little in common, both users of ice in their own way. He wanted to know her.

In her dust, she left them all with one thought: who is Bubaigawara Ayumi?

The infirmary was empty besides the two. Recovery Girl decided to step out to watch other matches; the Todoroki kid apparently didn't need any treatment, not finding it necessary to get checked out. So, the pair splashed by shades of green were alone together, one with mangled hands and the other with a mangled mind. Midoriya was mumbling to himself, a solo conversation in which Ayumi was clearly uninvited, but she wouldn't complain. It was probably better that way - her own thoughts were a handful alone.

"Oi, Midoriya. I'm going to put you on some light anesthetics right now. You'll feel loopy while I do the stitching, and then I'll put you to sleep after to deal with the pain." Eyes lidded by green wouldn't make contact with eyes radiating the color. Ayumi kept her head down, trying not to engage in conversation with the green haired kid that mangled his hands.

The boy's head snapped up and out of his rushing stream of thoughts. "Oh, okay."

"We can't put you on morphine or pain killers right now because the vessels are so damaged in your hands right now. The only thing we can do is try to distract you from the pain." Ayumi guided the boy up to inhale some laughing gas. The wide eyed girl with a scowl mumbled to herself, "Hopefully you'll shut up..."

The bushy headed kid seemed to wilt under the drug, but nonetheless, a smile remained prominent upon his face. "You know, I don't think you're a bad person, Ayumi," Midoriya slurred, eyes heavy but cracked open just enough to seem bright.

Ayumi was exhausted, exhausted of people prodding and poking at her inner morale that day whilst she prodded and poked their injuries. Her mouth was dead, the emptiness festering like a sore, the bloodshot girl lacking any more words to say. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"...I guess...thanks." She didn't lose focus on the stitching, the confession blurted out during ingenuine circumstance. The boy with a forest for hair didn't mean it, so the girl with mossy skin and a threaded needle wouldn't listen.

"No problem."

Knowing the boy wouldn't remember the conversation, Ayumi pushed herself to confide, needing a way to blow off steam without the consequential bonds that form. The girl with the snake bites knew that if you forfeited privacy, you'd have to expect unwanted bonds in return. She locked her bloodshot eyes with Midoriya's glazed ones, inquiring, "Wanna know why I didn't want to train with you?"

"Why?" Although some curiosity flickered in his eyes, the irises remained soupy, to muddied with the anesthetics.

"You're too happy for me. I'm not a happy person."

Midoriya's expression didn't falter, his lack of sobriety a fail safe for Ayumi's confession. "That's okay. I like being happy. You should try it." Such an honest statement backed by glossy eyes wasn't uncommon with the aid of laughing gas, however, Ayumi couldn't help wanting to cling to the boy's statement. But alas, the brunette secured the last stitch, pulling the string tightly, the type of tight she used when sealing her lips. Although she knew she wanted the boy's drunken optimism he spouted, Ayumi amplified the anesthetic, not giving herself the opportunity to falsely hope. How could she, when she was all she was able to manage practicing was pessimism?

With a fingertip to his carotid artery, Ayumi whispered, "Night, Midroiya," amplifying the drug and effectively putting out the only light in the room. It wasn't artificial, like the light energy alludes you with, like the particles your eyes decipher in the mess of dead space. Midoriya's light was real. Ayumi was left fumbling, the way she did on her own, and when she understood the room was dark and oversaturated in Midoriya's absence, Ayumi knew she needed to get back the only other light she knew of. The brunette was tired of being questioned, poked, prodded; Ayumi knew she had to tell someone something, anything, about herself if she wanted the brightness Midoriya held at the front of his eyes - if she wanted to prove herself wrong. Though the girl's mind thrashed in opposition, Ayumi's heavy heart had more weight in the decision. Thus, she closed her mind's mouth with self imposed stitches, ending the discussion in her heart's favor.

She needed light, so she needed Kirishima.


Author's note: omg is anyone else extremely tired this week?