Aizawa stared at him from the window, gaze curious and calculating.
There was a rumor circulating within U.A, something about inky feathers and too many bones, even if it seemed to be too disturbing even that Shoji, of all people, had done something. Something to warrant his avoidance and general wariness towards him.
Tokoyami Fumikage, age 19, birth date is October 30, and attending the last year above the 3rd. He lived within the 4th Height Alliance dorm buildings a bit farther from the main building which held all of 4-A to 4-B together in one building
(Class 4-A to 4-B— it was approved by Principal Nezu years ago that had been recommended by the HPSC. It had something to do about having an additional year for more promising students to be trained "more thoroughly".)
(It's been there just after the rumored student began to attend his second year, and it never sat right with Aizawa since then. Though it was called the Upper Echelons of U.A by other students in the academy, since only a selected few can attend the last classes.)
(Aizawa knew that there was something more to it, but he won't think too much about it at the moment.)
What Aizawa heard unnerved him though— what on earth do they mean about clusters of bladed feathers and too much bones? About the smoke from his steps and the red shadow underneath that trailed behind him, and hid away from the sun?
It only sounded like misguided ghost stories to him, to be honest, even though it worried him even more that some students already—
Wait.
What was Tokoyami Fumikage's quirk, anyway?
Aizawa leaned further on the window as he turned the papers into the sun, shifting though the papers and documents that Nezu had provided him with.
Name, age, birth date, things, things, things—
Nothing.
(What?)
The black haired man stared at the short summary, a random medium length paragraph pushed into white paper staring back at him where the explanation of his quirk should be sitting in. Something within him stirs and he's not sure why but,
Aizawa turns his head back to where the student stood, still listening to whatever their class advisor was telling to them from the courtyard, as the man notices his shadow (red red red) move— like oil in water, like the clap of speeding lightning, the push of a wing and a leaf in a hurricane—
Almost immediately he activated his quirk as the raven head turned and looked up, seemingly at something the advisor was pointing at, his hair floating from hi scalp and he saw—
"What? "
Aizawa gasped, his eyes widening at the... thing.
"Black-full, void-full, and yet still-standing, the final absolute— " something whispers in his mind, like a typhoon in the making and a storm above peaceful clouds.
Where the student was supposed to be, a dark humanoid-shaped thing stood in his place, unmoving and unreflected by light. Like a hole was cut through where he was, or foundations were the only things left but everything.
"The sleeping Nothingness."
(Students talk about shifting feathers and writhing not-skin above Too Many bones, of long and black fingernails cutting through barks and iron walls. Glimmering red stained teeth displacing themselves and arms and not-quite limbs that rivaled a hundred numbers— )
And, Aizawa, growing older by the second, perhaps understood a little bit too much; why people talk about those who were monsters. Even if it felt wrong.
The man blinked, even he was still disturbed and still shaken, and all he could when he looked down was red—
Tokoyami Fumikage was staring straight at him, through his eyes and his soul, like he's trying to pick at something.
(And maybe Shota should believe that he was. Blood eyes like those aren't normal. Even if he was a mutant.)
(Three pairs of eyes, blood golden and silvery whites, staring at him, through him, piercing and glaring, like a black lance from the sun itself. Feathers move around his head like leeching flesh and rising bones, covering and not covering all at once. A mask and a face all merging into one.)
A cold wind swept through the room, the eye of the arctic storm that brewed above Aizawa's skin settling into his mind (he thinks that the raven head had something to do with it, and he isn't wrong). He hears a laugh and the grinding of rusty metals, of dusty bones—
And, well,
"Don't go promising yourself to questions you won't find, sensei. "
So Tokoyami Fumikage turns his back, and ignored how white weapons and black hair fell to the floor as Aizawa Shota digged his palms over his bleeding eyes. His ears ringing and ringing and ringing and ringing—