Sorry for the late chapter, guys! Unfortunately, I've been struggling with my own mental illness and related issues. There was also a three week stretch where I played Persona 5 in my every waking moment of free time. I'm free of that now (thank god, I have my life back) although if you like Persona 5, keep an eye out on my "Odd Bits and Ends" compilation on AO3 - there may very well be a Yandere!Akechi/Reader posted there soon. :)
Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Things are starting to get a little brighter, but we're nowhere near out of the woods. In fact, towards the end I ended channeling a little of my own current angst, so. Yeah. That's there.
I hope you all enjoy!
When I wake up, I'm lying on a soft bed with a warm comforter tucked snugly around me. I'm on my back, which is not my favored sleeping position, but all I can think as I touch consciousness is that I'm so comfortable. If I could wake up like this every day, life would be good.
Then it hits me. I'm supposed to be dead. I had watched the people below, little more than specks in the darkness. I had stepped over the railing and jumped off that roof. What am I doing here? A brief glance around the room proves to me that I'm back at my apartment on U.A.'s campus, which makes exactly zero sense to me.
I jerk up into a sitting position, looking around wildly. How did I get here? Am I a ghost? Is that why I felt so peaceful just a little while ago? Am I going to be forced to stay in the world of the living for all eternity?
A deep breath has me slowing down, trying to force a little more logic into the equation. As far as this world is concerned, I don't think anything beyond quirks can qualify as supernatural, and not in the vampires-demons-werewolves kind of way. That probably rules out ghosts, too. It doesn't, however, give any explanation for why I'm still alive.
The memories come back slowly as my breathing evens out. My sudden halt in the air after jumping, kept from dying by Aizawa. His callous words, bringing me to a frothing rage that had me spewing all of what Tomura had done to me to a complete stranger who has no reason to care. Of some vaguely comforting words from him that I can't remember, but my own response I recall with clarity.
I just want it to stop hurting.
And isn't that the truth of it all? Suicide certainly seems like the easiest way to accomplish that, but all I really want is the pain to end. I'm not picky about how it happens, but the faster, the better. With that mindset, killing myself is the most logical thing to do.
I try to remember what Aizawa had said. Something about it getting better. But how long will I have to wait for that? How long can I last with this pain until I see even the slightest improvement?
Stumbling out of bed, the comforter tangling around my legs, I manage to dislodge myself and head toward the kitchen. Some hot tea might be nice, and my stomach is screaming for breakfast. I'm not sure if I'm going to indulge, given that I haven't really given up on suicide, but somehow the hunger is more compelling right now than it has been for the last few days.
My thoughts are brought to a screeching halt as I nearly trip over the yellow lump a few yards outside my room, strategically positioned between my bedroom and the front door.
"Holy shit!" I cry, falling back into the wall in my shock.
There's an aggravated groan from the lump. The voice is somewhat familiar. It takes a moment, but my knowledge of the manga leads me to realize that this yellow lump is Aizawa… in his sleeping bag.
In my apartment.
Why on earth…?
In case I had any doubt, there's the sound of unzipping and a head covered in black hair pops out. Aizawa's dry, bloodshot eyes survey me with some of the same confusion that I'm feeling for a few moments before he seems to settle. Maybe he's remembering what happened last night too. It doesn't explain why he's here, but I'm definitely going to find out.
"Couldn't you have woken up a few hours later?" he asks in a gravelly, tired voice.
I can't help but ignore the inane comment. There are more important things to figure out. "What are you doing here?" I ask dumbly. Of all the people I'd ever expect to be in my apartment—especially uninvited—Aizawa isn't even on the list. The invasion of privacy doesn't register in my shock, and even if it had, there's not exactly a personal touch to this apartment. For the most part, it's a place to lay my head down at night and pass the time during the day.
"Isn't that what you're supposed to do with suicide risks?" he grumbles, pulling himself a little further out of the sleeping bag, blinking against the harsh sunlight filtering through my balcony window. "Stay with them?"
The pieces take a little more time than they should have to coalesce in my mind. I'd never consider Aizawa to be the type to monitor someone who's suicidal. "You're here to keep me from killing myself?" I ask blankly. "Isn't that what mental hospitals are for?"
He gives me a knowing look. "You don't want to go to one of those."
He's right, I don't. But he's missing something pretty important. "You can't just babysit me all day. I could sneak off at any time when you're busy."
"The fact that you just admitted that tells me you're not nearly as suicidal as before." He huffs and forces himself up on his elbows, his lower body still fully ensconced in his sleeping bag. And, I think with some surprise, yeah, that was a stupid thing to say if that was my plan.
I'm embarrassed that I said it now. "I figured you would have already thought of the possibility," I say to cover up my blunder.
He shrugs. "I did, but that doesn't change the fact that you outed yourself voluntarily." I can't help but look away, a blush staining my cheeks.
He pulls his phone out. While he's busy typing away on it, I consider what he said about not being as suicidal as the night before. The truth is that, while I doubt I'm out of the woods, I do feel a little better this morning. The sun, bright through the curtain, and the clear blue skies peeking out, are beautiful. I can hear birds chirping outside my window. It's a nice day.
My stomach chooses that moment to growl ferociously. Aizawa glances up from his phone. "Go eat," he says, looking me over critically. "You need to gain at least forty pounds."
That's going to be a task and a half. However, as though the order has ended some kind of reservation in my mind, I decide that eating isn't such a bad idea. I stand up shakily to head to the kitchen. My body is really weak, especially after climbing all those stairs last night, and it feels like snapping a bone could be as easy as using too much force to chop up the veggies I'm going to put in my omelet.
I get to work right away, but I tire easily. I've never been this skinny before. Without thinking, I put five eggs into the omelet, turn on the rice cooker with two cups of dry rice—more than too much for two people—and chop more veggies than really necessary.
It occurs to me almost too late that Aizawa might want something to eat, but when I turn to him, he's back asleep, his sleeping bag zipped up tight.
It actually makes things easier. More for me.
By the time I'm done cooking, I'm sweating and trembling and it's not from the steam. I am so exhausted I feel like I could pass out. The only thing keeping me awake is the delicious smell of cooking food, and I don't bother to worry about a burnt tongue before I start shoveling food into my mouth. The minor wound heals, though more slowly than usual, I note.
Somehow, some way, I eat everything, including the four cups of rice. My stomach doesn't even feel stuffed, just comfortably full. I take a moment to consider pushing myself back towards my bed, but that seems unfathomable with how tired I am. Without further thought, I push the plate away, lay my head down on my arms, and close my eyes. I don't think I could have moved in that moment if I had wanted to.
I'm asleep the moment my eyes close.
I come into consciousness slowly, the murmur of voices bringing me into the waking world, hindered by my reluctance to open my eyes.
"We have to help her," says a husky female voice. A better word would be alluring. Her voice sounds like the promise of sex. "But does she want it?"
"She's doing better today, and may be more open to us now. She already said she doesn't want to go to a mental hospital, and I don't think it would help." That sounds a lot like Aizawa. It sounds a lot like people are talking about me while I'm asleep, actually.
"What she needs is support," a hushed voice says. It's a whisper, but it's actually the loudest of them all. If I hadn't been awake before, I would have been after he spoke. "People who care. People who want her around. Friends and family. Where's her family in all this, anyways?"
"Nezu said that there aren't records for anyone she's related to. It's almost like she appeared out thin air," Aizawa says. I can't help but give him points for how accurate he doesn't know he is. "He also says that we should try to support her while she's here."
"I'm always up for new friends!" the whisper-man says.
That's where I have to cut in. My stomach is whirling and I feel sick, and not because I ate too much food for breakfast. The thought of these people, characters from a manga that I had loved, pitying me enough that they would force themselves to be friends with me, is a really bad feeling.
"I appreciate your intentions," I say, opening my eyes and sitting up to look at them, "but I don't want pity friends." Just saying it out loud hurts. I liked these people for themselves—yeah, in a manga, but how was I supposed to know it was real?—and the thought of them lowering themselves to be friendly to me just because I'm damaged pierces deeper than if they were planning to ignore me. Something hardens in me, bitter and cruel, and it leaks out in my voice. "You're right, I don't have anybody. And if you guys try to be my friends, it'll only be because I accidentally healed All Might. I'm living on charity right now. Maybe I just don't want anybody, have you ever thought of that? Maybe you should stop trying to look out for me and just let me die like I want!"
The reactions I get are mixed, but there's one I don't expect. Looking at them, I recognize that Yamada Hizashi and Kayama Nemuri are the other two visitors, which makes sense because the three of them do seem to be friends.
On the one hand, Aizawa doesn't seem at all taken aback by my words, just kind of dully resigned, like he'd expected them. Hizashi, on the other hand, looks like I struck him.
But Nemuri straightens up, affronted, strides straight up to my bedside—how did I get here from the kitchen table?—yanks my hands away from my lap even as I flinch away, and all but forces me to look her in the eye. Her blue eyes are striking against the pale skin and dark hair, and for a moment, all I can see is her.
"We won't do that," she says in a steely voice, almost harsh, "because you deserve more."
I blink once, twice. What? No, I don't. These people have no reason to care about me and I don't need any more charity than has already been thrown at me.
Still, though I'm trying to fight it, her words hit me at my core, forcing all these questions that I had been automatically assuming the answers for to rise up and clamor for a real response. Do I deserve more? Isn't that the crux of it?
Do I deserve healing? Do I deserve love? Do I deserve happiness?
Do I deserve to live?
I feel like I've been punched right in my sternum, winded and out of breath. After all that Tomura's done to me? Raping me, demeaning me, torturing me, keeping me captive? My submission, my attempts to please him, my compliance with his wishes? I had given up on ever escaping him. I had given up and accepted that this would be my fate until I was rescued or managed to kill myself.
Tears flood my eyes against my will and I can only stare up at her. I'm not mad, just hurting, just resigned. "No, I don't." She looks ready to protest and I fight back before she can. "If you knew what—"
"I don't need to know, Zen-san! You are a human being, deserving of love and care and happiness! I don't care what terrible deed you've done, even if you've hurt people—it looks to me like you're the one who's hurting here! And…" Nemuri inhales deeply, as if preparing herself for backlash, and lowers her voice. "I know what rape victims look like, Zen-san."
I look sharply at Aizawa, unable to hide how stricken I am. That was private! He shouldn't be spewing my business everywhere!
Before I can say anything, Nemuri turns back to the two men and orders, "Out! Both of you!" Hizashi high-tails it out of there, but Aizawa lingers to give both of us a look that says he's not done yet, just biding his time. He still leaves after that, and I almost call out to him to rip him a new one about invasion of privacy, but then Nemuri is holding me with her gaze again and lowers herself to the bed.
"Nobody told me anything," she reassures before I can get any angrier. "You can see the signs if you know them. The way you flinch when someone touches you, that hunted look." I can't help but cringe away from her and the way she seems to see straight through any meager defenses I've built. "But it's in the eyes," she goes on quietly. "Rape… it ages people in a way no one else can seem to understand. There's a sort of innocence you can never go back to, no matter how old you are when it happens. It's like an apparition only victims can see."
I'm quaking. My whole body feels like it's going to implode from the strength of my emotions. How does she know that I feel like this? "W-were you raped?" I ask tremulously. She seems to really understand, and although I would never wish my fate on anyone else—except maybe Tomura himself—it gives me comfort to think someone might relate on a personal level.
"No," she replies and I deflate a little, confusion flooding in until she continues, "But one of the reasons I chose to become a Pro Hero was because it happened to a dear friend."
Unable to keep the hope out of my voice, I ask, "Did she recover? Is she okay? Is she happy?"
A sad smile. "Not her. But so many other men and women have recovered and gone on to live happily. You can too, Zen-san. You don't have to live with this pain forever. It might not always be great, or even good, but you can be okay again."
That's my breaking point. I don't need to be praised because I healed All Might. I don't need the kindness of Nezu's charity, though it's been helpful and is the only reason I'm alive right now. What I've needed to hear, ever since Tomura yanked me into his orbit, is this. I can be okay. I can recover. I can be happy and it can stop hurting.
I break down in tears and tell her everything, from start to finish.
It's straight out of a horror movie, Nemuri thinks to herself as Akito, through tears, tells her about the fateful day their game shop's usual delivery boy was out sick and she had been forced to come face to face with the leader of the League of Villains. Nemuri has never personally experienced Shigaraki's quirk, but just from listening and talking to Shouta post-battle had made it clear enough that its effects could be classified as torture. When Akito haltingly recalls her kidnapping, the torment she had gone through and then, stammering and sobbing, relaying what had happened afterward, Nemuri can't help but think of Chizuru and her story.
Akito goes on to detail the next five months, the constant sexual assault and the torture and the submission and her rampant self-loathing. Nemuri can see, just in her affect, and hear in her tone, that Akito blames herself for all this. For getting captured in the first place, for not fighting back harder, for not escaping when she had the chance, for her compliance, for failing to beat Tomura at his own game by herself. Nemuri wishes she could tell her that she had to do these things in order to survive and that she had done nothing wrong, but while it's the truth, she knows Akito won't be able to believe her. The self-recrimination is hard to hear, especially in conjunction with its similarity what Chizuru had said when she finally admitted it.
"If I had just worn pants instead of a skirt…"
"If I had just carried pepper spray like my father said…"
"If I had just been paying more attention to my surroundings…"
"If I had taken another route home…"
Nemuri had tried so hard to get Chizuru to understand that it was no one's fault but the rapist's, but Chizuru had never been able to really hear it, to really comprehend. When her suicide had come two years later, Nemuri had been heartbroken, devastated, but not really surprised. No one had stepped in to help her friend besides her and it just wasn't enough.
She was not going to let history repeat itself. Come hell or high water, Zen Akito was going to get her happy ending.
When I finally tell the entire story from start to finish, it feels like a weight has been lifted off me. It's out, all in the open. Someone knows everything—except, of course, my otherworldly origins. It's not important right now and somehow I doubt it'll help my case if I claim to be from another universe. It's not like that information is really relevant to what's going on, anyways.
With a defeated sigh, I slump back down in bed. "Don't… please don't tell anyone," I say hoarsely. "I don't need the whole world to know how pathetic I am."
Nemuri frowns. "You're not pathetic, Zen-san," she says sternly. "You're a survivor. There's no greater feat than that."
I close my eyes and turn my head away. I might feel lighter in some ways, but I also feel incomparably burdened, heavy. That had all really happened to me. It's out in the open, with a witness for good measure: I, Zen Akito, was raped, tortured, and held captive by Shigaraki Tomura. There's no escaping that anymore, no hiding behind any sort of denial.
For a little while, there's silence as Nemuri processes and I wallow in my dark feelings. Then, finally, she says, "Okay. So here's what we're going to do."
Opening my eyes, I look at her and frown. "And what's that, exactly?"
"Well, for one thing, sitting at home by yourself all day is just asking for trouble. It lets the dark thoughts fester and multiply, and you don't need that. So we're going to do something today, something fun and easy. Not too stressful."
I frown. "I can't let him know I'm alive," I say, my heart pounding at the thought of going out in public. I can't tell her about the spy—hell, I hadn't gotten to the point where I even knew who that was, just that he or she existed—so staying locked up in my room feels like my best bet for staying safe. "And… I'm not up for just traipsing around. My body is, um… pretty weak."
"Oh, don't worry about that," Nemuri says with a reassuring smile. "First order is to fatten you up, but I meant something closer to playing cards, or taking a slow walk around campus—just getting you used to normal life."
"I don't mean to be a downer, but I don't have a normal life." I haven't had one since Tomura.
"And that's why we're going to start introducing you to one. Once you can get used to that, we can talk to Principal Nezu and see about getting you some kind of steady work on campus." She pauses. "Until the entire League of Villains is behind bars, I think you're going to be restricted to UA for your own safety. I'm sorry."
I shake my head fervently. "That's honestly fine with me. Anything is better than going back there. But…" I swallow hard. Admitting this feels like pulling teeth, even though it should feel like a positive thing. "I guess that—well, I… I want that normal life. I don't think I know what that looks like yet, but I think I want it." If it doesn't work out, it's not like suicide is suddenly not an option anymore.
For some reason, admitting that makes me feel more vulnerable than when I had told my story. I want to get better. Through sheer luck—I don't believe in providence, not after Tomura—I have been introduced to someone who's not only willing to help me but also knows how. That alone makes me want to be stronger, to not give in to death.
Nemuri's eyes soften, but it's not out of pity. I can see compassion swirling there, and even… admiration? But there's nothing to admire about my resolution. I'm only going to be functioning like a normal adult. There's nothing special about that—it's the baseline of what I should be capable of, Tomura or not. So there's really nothing to be proud of here.
You can be okay again.
I might never be good, or great, but if I can be okay—if I can be an average, normal person, with average, normal problems and nothing else, well… that's almost more than I can ask.
But as much as I feel like it's the lowest rung on the ladder of what I should be able to manage, it feels like I'm going to have to climb Mount Everest to reach even that.
As if sensing what I'm feeling, Nemuri changes the subject. "Now, what do you know about cards?"
"Not a lot," I admit a little sheepishly.
"First things first, then!" She turns to the door and shouts, "Boys, get out the cards! We're teaching Zen-san poker!"
So, I have a little poll: It's well known that survivors often have PTSD nightmares/night terrors. Akito has one coming up (not telling when!) and so far, it's pretty dark. I'm asking for your opinions - should it be graphic? Would you prefer I skip over the finer details? Right now it's leaning more towards graphic because it's going to have a substantial effect on her recovery (not telling which way, but don't automatically assume it's going to be a set back!) but I also want to keep the non-consensual encounters to a minimum because while they're a large part of the story, I don't want them to be a defining factor.
Anyways, comments with what you think will be helpful! This isn't a majority vote type of thing, but it'd be great if I could get your thoughts on it!
Cheers!
OHL