"Aizawa," Recovery Girl's stern tone forced him to look her in the eyes. He found a hardness in them he likened to when she had to deal with death and grave injuries in the field – a look he knew never meant anything good. "I need to talk to you."
It seemed even his bandaged and damaged state would stop the dread she was about to bring him. Not that he wouldn't not want to hear it anyways.
"Hm?"
She spared a glance around them, but the teacher's office was completely empty. "It's about Kitajima."
"What?" He questioned. He knew Kitajima was very closely involved with the deaths of the villain – but he was closely involved. Though it was sure to have taken a toll on the kid's mind.
Though, Kitajima also fought that… monster. And he didn't hesitate to use enough force that would have killed anyone but it.
He would have Kitajima take mandatory counseling with Hound Dog once he was out of this god damned bed.
"He… you weren't awake when Midnight had to sedate him. When we had to force him to get medical assistance."
Aizawa couldn't raise a brow as it would've hurt far too much. But his silence was enough for her to continue.
"It was a mistake. I had to undress him to check for any wounds we might have missed – there weren't any – but I found something… disturbing. I think I know – or at least I might have an idea of why he didn't want anyone… touching him." Her tone was grave, and her expression solemn.
His gut was churning. His mind wandered back to the day the news had broken in – how Kitajima had cut deep enough into his palms to draw blood. How there was a noticeable coldness in his eyes in every interaction, yet no small amount of warmth in his voice. A panic hidden in tense shoulders behind a veil of calm. It was something he'd seen in the most jaded of people.
"What is it?"
"Scars. Deep scars." She answered quick and short, as if saying more would burn her tongue. "Engraved into his shoulders, his waist. And– and there was–" She cut herself off. "He's just a child."
Aizawa sucked in a breath, fighting the cold that seeped into his guts.
"I've seen all kinds of scars… I know them like the back of my own hand. Burns, bullets, blades, shattered bones – everything and then some. More than anyone ever needs to see their entire lifetime." Her voice failed to hide a layer of pain Aizawa was sure he'd never understand. "His were… Jagged and uneven. Old, but so deeply carved I was sure it was a villain at USJ who had done it. I can't be sure when – I couldn't bear to look any longer – but I know one thing for sure."
"...What?"
"If I ever find whoever hurt him, it won't be a sterile bed they find themselves in."
.
.
Ken smiled at the mirror in his bathroom, tapping his foot against the tile as he watched his muscles make minute adjustments to create the perfect smile. Too stiff, too much, not enough. He sighed, his muscles relaxing back into a blank slate.
Fuck.
Again.
This time he aimed for something more subtle. A hint of a smile, like the one someone would have when they were talking to a person they liked. It was hard doing it to a reflection.
In the eyes. It's all in the eyes. He shut his eyes but maintained the smile. One, two, three. He let the edges of his eyes crinkle, and kept them half lidded. Bottom too. Ken pushed up his cheeks a tad bit more, letting the bottom lid off his eyes pushing upwards as well.
He took a moment to remember how it looked and how it felt, then let it relax. Good.
Ken had perfect control.
Again.
.
.
He'd slipped on his only other pair of clothes – besides the school uniform – and made his way downtown. The black turtleneck made his hair pop out far too much, and he knew he needed new clothes. Ken needed new disguises.
Ken suppressed a wince when his ankles chafed against his pair of black heeled boots. And shoes.
He didn't want to spend Tri-angle's money on just clothes. Disguises were expensive.
Heels or nothing, right?
Ken huffed and left the apartment. He would have locked his door, but there was nothing in there anyways. He brought his 'schoolbag' along with his uniform. Who would've thought…
He shook his head of any spiraling thoughts and set himself onto a path towards the nearest mall he knew.
It would serve him two purposes.
Musutafu wasn't all quiet and peaceful at midnight. Sure, most of the city was dead asleep, but other parts of it were alive and bustled with salary workers wanting to relieve their stress. There was a mall in particular that was always busy, simply called Landmark. Landmark mall was surrounded by bars, gas stations, motels, strip clubs, college parties, raves and other… frowned upon activities.
It was a crowded and brightly lit place, a hotspot for nightcrawlers. Relatively safe.
Ken sped through the area, ignoring the looks and cat calls he overheard along with the pair of men trailing him for a solid minute or two. It must have been odd to see one so young around the area, but he could care less. He passed by a bar called The Last Drop, noted the open door and the girl who looked like she would be a third year at UA were she not sprawled on the lap of a balding middle aged man.
It seemed he wasn't the only one who didn't care.
Good.
Ken entered a shop soon after, one filled to the brim with off brand and hand-me-down clothes. Number one, he'd buy himself a disguise or two – enough to last him until the next deposit. Ken picked out a pair of baggy jeans, and a plain white button up long sleeved shirt, along with a pair of converses he knew he'd despise.
Next was a tight red dress that would accentuate his figure and stopped just above his knees and started just below his chin. His arms would be covered by long sleeved mesh gloves that hid the light scars that peppered his pale skin. Those were ones he didn't care about – ones he was proud of. along with fishnet leggings and another pair of heels that offered zero protection for his feet.
At least I can slip them off easily.
No, he had another reason for them.
He purchased the clothes and made his way towards the bathroom. Stench made is easy to find.
Ken entered the woman's end and locked himself into a stall. He set the lid of the toilet down and set down his bag on it, then quickly stripped out of his getup. The cold tiles felt gross against his bare feet, but he beared with it as he slipped on a bra along with padding to go along with the red dress and leggings. He pulled out his phone and propped it up against his bag, brushing his hair high up to his scalp and tightly braiding it to stay there. Then came the bald cap, and the long blonde haired wig he had picked up earlier.
He spared a moment to look at all of himself.
Ken couldn't help the age old thought that he looked wrong. He always had effeminate looks, always been paraded around for it, complemented, blamed, desired. Like it was all he was. Bugs crawled inside his skin when someone looked at him like he was some sort of toy for them to indulge in, writhing about and tearing apart any sense of identity he had.
It made it easy to slip in and out of places he would never be able to enter otherwise, it made him useful, so he told himself he didn't care. It didn't matter in the end.
All that did was to do her bidding and get back to her as fast as possible – no matter how painful it would get.
That was reason number two.
Get used to it.
She would always tell him, and Ken believed it. Strength was all that mattered. Not just any kind of strength, but the kind that would allow him– that would keep him going even when everything around him was destroyed. Feed the dark impulse, feed the hate, the anger – every little thing that hurt him, he would break free from it. He would free himself no matter the cost.
Ken needed tolerance. He needed to become stronger.
His mind felt hazy, and he left the stall in a daze after hastily packing everything back into his bag. Ken moved on autopilot when he left the mall, and hid the bag behind the trashcan of some alley. The second he was out on the brightly lit night streets, he noticed the looks. They undressed and devoured him and ravaged him – but he couldn't care.
Ken's blue eyes caught another's and he saw the growing hunger, the wicked rictus grin that split his face. The eyes that looked at him like it was his fault.
For a moment he froze. His breath quickened, his vision felt blurred and his palms sweaty–
More.
And then kept walking.
He willed his fingers to stay still – to stay relaxed. Ken neared the man who smiled at him, he smiled back – practiced and seductive – before continuing past him, ignoring the stench of alcohol that came from his tense and haughty stance.
"S'a beauty like you doin' around 'ere so late?" Coarse and expectant, came his voice.
Ken turned around, keeping the same smile on his face. "A girl can't look for some fun on her own?"
The man chuckled, his greasy hair bobbing up and down on his sweaty forehead. "I like me a girl like that." His beady eyes drank his body head to toe.
"Oh?" The coo made him feel nauseous, like he would hurl right then and there – but he needed to do this. "A bar, then?"
The man's stink rolled off of him like a pile of dung. "I ain't e'er turn down a drink from a pretty thing like you."
Pretty thing.
Ken resisted the urge to let loose his quirk.
"I know jus' the right place." He slithered an arm across Ken's waist.
His vision turned white for a split second, needles striking his mind and leaving just as quickly as they came.
Ken's feet moved on their own, his face frozen in its unnatural smile. For a moment there was a calmness that took over him. Like there was nothing at all.
Then, the fingers caressed him, unknowingly traveling over the scar that ran deeper than flesh.
No–
This is good.
This is good.
Thisisgoodthisisgoodthis–
"Lead the way big boy."
The man chuckled, his warm body chafing against his cold and rigid one.
Ken felt doll-like.
It was easier that way.
His body was just a means to an end.
The faster he got it into his head, the less he'd slip up. He'd be stronger.
It was weird… The turbulent emotions felt as if they were put behind a thin veil, and he couldn't quite feel himself anymore.
This is… good.
His mouth replied with practiced words and laughed and smiled without him even thinking or realizing it.
Right?
It was almost like he was submerged underneath a pool of calming waters. Cold, yes, but also quiet. There was no feeling.
Everything else was on the other side. Here there was just… nothing.
Nice.
Good.
Quiet.
This was all he had to be, all he was.
.
.
Ken stumbled out of the Last Drop before he'd gotten too drunk. He had that much awareness, at the very least and made sure that man couldn't follow him. It was a school day tomorrow–or today–after all.
A small dot of fading blood trailed after each click of his heels as he made his way to the alleyway in which he hid his bag.
The buzz helped with the crawls he felt all over his skin. They too, would fade soon. He'd enjoyed the crazed high until it was gone, though.
With a not so fake-smile, Ken haughtily sauntered down the sidewalk.
Why aren't I drunk all the time?
"Huh."
Maybe I will be… Ken giggled at the image of him sneaking in a quick sip in the middle of class. Yuka would get mad…
I wouldn't be able to find the spy!
Ken couldn't quite stop his thoughts from spiraling.
Then I'd be stuck with that… Broccoli! I hate his big green eyes. Make him look like an idiot! Which he is, of course. Just makes him look like more of an idiot! He couldn't be the spy, right? All Might keeps sneaking glances at him, he really isn't subtle. What about everyone else? Invisigirl's probably the best spy on the planet! She can make whatever expression she wants! If she's angry, she can frown, scrunch her brows, squeeze her fists! It's amazing… She doesn't have to hide anything, because everything's already hidden away! She's lucky…
And I have to look perfect all the time! I think I messed up with Midnight though… but at least it wasn't Aizawa. He'd kill me if he ever found out. I'd prefer if he didn't strangle me to death at least. I don't like his scarf. RG's nice… she didn't bring up the scars. She wouldn't tell anyone right?
Ken felt a little more sober, though he didn't know if he wanted to feel that way.
Where am I sleeping tonight?
He found himself at the mouth of the alleyway he dumped his bag in, and someone hunched over the corner he'd hidden it.
Ken shook his head, disgust and anger roiling in his gut, and quickly marched over to them.
With a grunt, he grabbed the man's dirtied hoodie and ripped him away from his bag.
"You're dead!"
An old man with a long shaggy beard looked back at him with wide eyes.
Ken swiped his hand across the air, aiming to decapitate him.
The old man slipped down the wall with a yelp, and a thin line scarred the wall where the man's neck should have been.
Damn alcohol!
Ken tried again, but to no success. The man slipped out of the way with the agility of a cat.
Shit!
"You're really aimin' to kill aren't ya?!" With a hoot the old man jumped off a trash can just as Ken split the thing it two, sending a pile of horrid smelling shit on to the ground.
"Shut up!"
"Calm down kid! Woah!"
"Fuck you!" Ken managed to land a punch straight into the man's nose, but in came the old man's foot to swipe his feet off the ground.
What the?!–
The ground met his back, and Ken instantly tried to wrestle out of the grip he found himself trapped in. "Let go!"
Buzz was gone.
"Not until you stop tryin' to kill me!"
"I said LET GO!"
"Shit kid, I'm not gonna hurt ya!"
"I– I can't breathe!–"
"But I'm not–" Then the weight was off of him. "Damn."
Like a stray cat, Ken scrambled off into a corner and pushed his back into it, his breathing shallow as his arms were shaking even as he held them up ready to fight.
Why am I like this? The thought came unbidden.
"Stay away or I'll kill you!"
"Okay, okay…" The old man listened and stayed perfectly still, as if a single movement would set Ken off.
Then for what felt like an eternity, there was nothing but Ken's shallow breathing slowly but surely turning longer and deeper, even as he inhaled the putrid smell lingering in the air.
"We cool?" The old man shot up peace signs.
"Why… why are you still here?" How did he get the drop on me?
The old man pointed at Ken, a crinkle in his eyes.
"What?" He questioned.
"You're sitting on my bag."
Ken felt a childish amount of indignation flare within him, so he replied with:
"You were looking through mine!"
"You tried to kill me!"
"Only because you were going through my bag!"
"Murder is much worse than stealing!"
"Stop trying to one up me!"
Oh my god–
"I'm too drunk for this." Ken huffed, and got off the homeless man's bulky bag.
The old man huffed too, crossing his arms like a child who couldn't get his parents to buy him a toy – before his head snapped back to Ken like a hawk. "Drunk?!"
"What's it to you?" Why don't I just kill him again?
"Bah! Kids these days… When I was your age I was–"
"Shut up–"
"–Working a nine to five trying to keep the lights on! Can't believe it."
Ken grinned a real grin. "Look where that got you."
The old man's brows shot up to his non-existent hairline. "Why you!– hmph!"
Seriously… What's wrong with this guy?
Ken marched towards his bag and flung it behind his shoulder, walking towards the exit of the alley. The click clack of his heels were interrupted by an endless voice. It was deep, gravelly, and caught him so off guard he almost tripped on his feet.
"Boy," For a second he thought he heard someone else – not the childish homeless old man who managed to get the drop on Ken. No, this sounded like someone else – someone who'd seen the same things he had.
He froze.
The old man opened his mouth, then closed it, before opening it once again. "Cover up those marks." He pointed at his neck.
Shit.
Ken had forgotten about the hickeys. He grunted an acknowledgement, and left the man to himself.
It took his drunk mind a few minutes to process how that entire encounter made no sense.
For some reason it also made him feel better.