I wonder what I must do for some reviews? They're plenty expensive nowadays...
Clinking of the untouched tea cup, sitting on the desk in front of her. The computer screen, illuminated by the pale glow of the lamp on her desk, casting shadows over her face. She was sitting there, lost in thought, her posture slouching slightly. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but she didn't seem to mind.
Her mind wandered back to the events of the day. The meeting with her superior, the endless paperwork, the never-ending stream of emails. It was all starting to blend together into a single, dull mass of monotony.
She let out a sigh, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Even her favourite mug of tea couldn't cheer her up today. Maybe she should just call it a day, go home and curl up in bed with a good book. But then again, there was still that report that needed finishing.
Judgement works are afoot. Well, she couldn't very well abandon them now, could she? She spends a whole lot of time trying to be one. No way she would abandon it now.
She took a sip of her tea, trying to find some measure of comfort in its familiar taste. But even that seemed to fail her today. With a sigh, she set the cup back down on the desk and turned back to her computer screen.
The cursor blinked, taunting her, as she stared at the blank document. "Come on," she muttered to herself, "just write something." The words seemed to flow from her fingertips, but they didn't feel right. They lacked the usual energy and vitality that she put into her work.
She paused, considering what she had written so far. It was... serviceable. But it wasn't up to her standards. With a frustrated groan, she deleted everything and started over again.
Uiharu Kazari hasn't been herself lately. Things haven't been right with her group of friends. Hirano's change caused a massive rift between Misaka and Frenda. Even Ruiko, who's usually so upbeat and energetic, has been a bit down lately.
Frenda's anger towards Misaka only worsened after the argument, and she's been avoiding her. Uiharu can't help but feel guilty about the whole situation. She's friends with both of them, after all. And she cares about them both dearly.
Even Kuroko was possibly the one affected the most. What made it confusing though was the rift in the group was seemingly only a partial cause. The other part was something else entirely. Something that Uiharu couldn't quite put her finger on.
As she continued to type, her fingers moving faster now, she found herself wondering how they could all get back to the way they used to be. Back when they were a happy, close-knit group.
The key was Hirano. He brought them together, and this change in him was what tore them apart. The only way she can think of to fix this is to make Hirano see the error of his ways and change back. But how can she do that? She's no psychiatrist or anything. All she can do is hope that things will work out somehow.
Another thing about him is that; nobody has seen him for months now. Kuroko appears to be avoiding him and didn't even realise that he was gone; at least didn't want to think that he was gone. Misaka couldn't find him, his numbers couldn't be reached. Ruiko hasn't even heard of him, at least from her anywhere at all. Frenda… well… she hasn't seen the girl in a long time. Uiharu doesn't even have the time to search for him as much as she wanted to.
And when she did have the time, she couldn't even locate him at all. Yoshikawa's place was empty, so was the hospital room where Captain was kept in. She couldn't go to his school, as Nagatenjouki is a closed off campus reserved for either a certain few people who work or attend that place. She could either wake up early and wait there until he either goes in or comes out. But then again, she also has classes to attend.
She could ask his guardians, sure. But that'll be too easy. Not only is he actually missing, but people closest to him as well. Yoshikawa Kikyou and Yomikawa Aiho were also nowhere to be found. It was as if they all vanished into thin air. Even Tsuzuri was reluctant in speaking of topics regarding either of the three. And the more she thought about it, the more worried she became. It's that damned case all over again.
With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts and worries, and she didn't know how she was supposed to focus on her work when everything else was going on. She wished she could just make things go back to the way they were before.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to type next. But she knew that she couldn't stop now. The report needed to be finished. With a deep breath, she forced herself to continue.
Maybe, just maybe, she could find some way to help her friends and fix everything. She just had to keep looking. For now, she could only do her best and hope that it would be enough.
The cursor blinked, waiting patiently for her to continue. Uiharu took another deep breath and began to type once more. Yet much of her mind is completely occupied on a certain white haired boy's whereabouts, and the well being of her friends. Her heart's crying for something, but her mind's not so sure what that something is.
So she just types and types, hoping that everything will fall into place.
Not long after submitting her report, she and Kuroko were to patrol around their usual route. Much of the agents in their particular Judgement office wasn't made for combat, so the usual would be Kuroko, as she was possibly the strongest there is in the area.
She and the girl didn't mind it. She doesn't mind it at all. Maybe they could discuss things while they're out there. Maybe she could find some clue or something. Anything.
Yet that day turns out better and worse than she initially thought it would.
They encountered their first major case in weeks when they first officially became a Judgement agent. A bank robber in the act. Kuroko engages them while she calls for support.
The twin tailed girl was hurt, much to her chagrin. It was bad. Yet not as bad as it could've been. She would be out of commission for a while. Maybe a week or two, if she's lucky. But a wound is still a wound.
So when she saw the girl lay there on the concrete floor, bloody and hurt, she couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness. This was her partner. Her friend. And she swore to protect her.
Just when things were to go worse, they got better. A familiar figure shows up. A familiar lighting flashes from her side, as if summoned.
Misaka Mikoto. Kuroko's friendship with the short haired girl was still rather strained, what with the whole Hirano's change and all that, but they were still friends, after all.
But that fiasco, that whole bank robbery ordeal, it pretty much changed their relationship 180 degrees. They were no longer the same. The rift was still there, even if it wasn't as wide as before.
But it was honestly better this time. Their relationship was no longer built on their mutual friendship over Hirano, but on something else. Something stronger. And that something was their own strength, as an individual.
Uiharu couldn't help but feel relieved, seeing the two of them working together. It was almost as if things were going back to normal. Almost. But not quite yet.
Hirano was still out there, somewhere. And until she finds him, until they make things right, she couldn't help but feel like something was missing. Something important.
But for now, all she can hope for is that he is fine, wherever he is out there, and that one day, they could all be together again. Just the way they used to be.
With a groan, Yomikawa Hirano straightens his sore back. The joints in his limbs, aching from the unaccustomed exertion, protest against the motion. His lungs feel tight and burning from breathing in dust and smoke. Even his vision is beginning to blur, making it hard for him to focus on his surroundings.
Although faded, the visible mark on his neck is still distinct. The pain that burns in it serves as a constant reminder of everything that he had to sacrifice.
Another marred his cheekbone, marking it a faint bluish colour, making the boy appear more sickly than he normally would. He didn't think much of it, at least not that time. But the gazes he seems to be attracting due to these little flaws... It's unnerving, to say the least.
But it could be worse, he tells himself, for that's what he keeps telling himself. He could've been taken entirely. Instead, he's still here, standing tall, breathing freely. It's enough. It should be.
His body suddenly took a halt from all the movements he's been doing. His legs, the weak limb it is, allowed itself to lose balance as his being tilted forward. His hands reached out automatically to cushion the fall.
It was a bad idea. His added weight was too much for the already tired muscles to handle. With a loud thud, his body meets the ground, the impact jarring his bones and muscles awake. The skin on his palm splits open, adding a new pain to the mix. He grits his teeth, willing himself not to make any sound.
He heard a shout from the back, gruff and perhaps a hint of concern lacing it. "That's enough for you, Yomikawa. Go to the infirmary."
He couldn't agree more to such a statement. P.E class was never really his thing, even before everything happened. Now... now it's just another chore to bear with.
He pushed himself up, careful as to not let his weight rest on his injured hand, wincing at the pain that lances through his body. The boy looked up, meeting the stern gaze of his teacher. He seemed disappointed, maybe even a little angry.
The man should've known. Even as a Level 5, Hirano wasn't the most physically capable of his peers. He was too slow, too weak, too... frail.
He glared back at the older man, silently daring him to say anything. In truth, he didn't have the energy to argue. What he lacked in physical attributes, he tried to make up for in everything. Mostly intimidation and sheer willpower.
With a small nod, he acknowledged his teacher's order and headed towards the infirmary. His steps were slow and laboured, each one an effort. His gaze was trained on the ground, avoiding the gaze of his peers who seemed to be watching him with varying expressions.
He doesn't like them watching him. They were judgemental, their expectations that come with his status that places him in a pedestal far beyond their reach as the Top of the Top, ironic as it is. It was heavy, this burden. Sometimes, he wished he could just let go.
But he can't. Not yet. There's still so much to do.
At times like this, he wished he could just be in the company of his friends. But that time is over now. He'd done it after all, that would ruin everything. Kikyou once told him to try and let people in. Try as he might, he'd failed. Miserably.
All the way to the end, only one of the 5 of them might understand him, perhaps a mere fraction. The one that he relates the closest to, she is gone now. She's been gone for months now, Shinobu. Either dead or alive, with more likely on the former as she had practically signed her death contract just to get him this far. But that didn't make it any easier to deal with.
He let out a sigh. He should be used to it by now.
He reached the infirmary, the door sliding open at his touch. The cool air inside was a relief against his heated skin. He limped inside, nodding at the nurse stationed there, a young woman probably fresh out of school. She smiled at him, her expression sympathetic.
Having cleaned his palm from any excess blood and any lingering sands. He quietly hissed at the alcohol wipes. It wasn't that bad, he'd been told, but he certainly needed some rest, what with how shaky his knees are.
The nurse couldn't help but giggle at that. He made his way to the bed with a tingling on his cheeks. It was embarrassing. He doesn't like that feeling. And he certainly doesn't like this woman already.
He pushed the thoughts away, opting to just try and catch his breath. His chest rises and falls slowly as he does so, the exhaustion slowly claiming his mind. With the adrenaline from the pain and the movement gone, the weariness settles in his bones, making them heavy, dragging him down. He wouldn't be able to keep his eyes open much longer.
His limbs feel heavy as lead as he flops onto the bed, his body already seeking the comfort of sleep. It's only natural, he thinks. P.E class just demands that much from him. He should be thankful that he only lost a little blood this time. Last time, which was a few years back, it had been worse.
He closes his eyes, already feeling the sandman's touch on his eyelids, ready to drag him into the dreamless sleep that he so desperately craves. The pain in his neck and cheek, the exhaustion in his limbs, the ache in his back and lungs. They all fade away, becoming nothing more than distant memories, unimportant and insignificant.
For now, he is free. Free from the weight of the world, of the expectations, of the responsibility. Free from everything but the sweet embrace of sleep.
He pushed a door open, the handle creaking softly under his grip. The room inside was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a small window near the ceiling. The air was stale and musty, carrying the faint scent of iodoform.
He was greeted with the gaze of at least 8 people. Home has been crowded with Anti-Skills for a while now, mostly done to keep both his guardians safe in his absence. Other than that, they were also around for other reasons such as groceries and as Aiho's caretaker.
They nodded at his presence before going back to what they're doing. He saw Aiho on the couch, dressed in casual clothing, her hair much shorter, revealing much of the wires connected to her head. She appears skinnier as well, but that's to be expected. After all, she had been through a lot.
Hirano closed the door behind him, the soft click of the latch echoing in the silence. When he turned back again, he saw Yoshikawa standing beside the couch the blue haired woman was resting on. She had her arms crossed.
"Your teacher called." The boy rolled his eyes, a small scowl forming on his face. "You skipped an entire class. Care to explain?"
"I was at the infirmary."
"You were at the infirmary for a whole class?" The woman raised an eyebrow. "Seems a little excessive, even for you."
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I was tired." He didn't have the energy to argue. Not right now.
"You're always tired." Yoshikawa's voice was soft, almost pitiful.
"I can't help it." He grumbled. "P.E class is just... not my thing."
She smiled. "You know, if you want, I can ask your teacher to excuse you from it. You don't have to keep punishing yourself like this." He raised an eyebrow at that. She can do that?
"Well, I can try." Her smile turned soft and understanding. "But I'm sure they'd understand. But you'll end up taking extra classes in turn. Is that a deal?"
He thought about it for a moment, his gaze drifting to Aiho. She seemed to be asleep, her breathing slow and steady. It would be easier, if he's not constantly exhausted. But then again... there's also the extra classes to consider.
He shrugged. It's not like he's struggling with anything. At least that has nothing to do with physical exertion. "Do it." He said finally.
Yoshikawa nodded, a small smile on her lips. "I'll call your teacher in a bit. In the meantime, why don't you get something to eat." She gestured to the kitchen. " We made some food."
He glanced at the stove, then back to her. "You cooked?"
The woman chuckled. "I can cook, you know. I just never had the chance to before." He didn't really have anything else to say. Not wanting to just stand there and be awkward, he nodded, heading towards the table.
The food was warm and tasted good. It's been a while since he last ate something that wasn't fast food or take-out. All the while, the company of the people in the room felt strange. Rather normal actually. Sometimes it's easy to forget that they're not just people who are stuck with him, but rather, people who genuinely care for him and this weird family combination of his.
It's just him being too jaded. Too paranoid. Too used to being alone. The things that he tries to change for the best. He hadn't figured it out just yet, even with the numerous chances and the time he's been given.
Perhaps, he thought, he should start working on that again.
Eventually, he excused himself and went into his room.
He took off his uniform, the jacket he hung on the back of his door. The clothes he changed into were simple and comfortable. A plain white shirt and shorts.
He lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the murmurs from the other side of his door. He closed his eyes. For a while, he just lay there, trying to bring himself to slumber. But as the minutes ticked by, he found himself unable to. The amount of sleep he'd gotten earlier is too much. And now he's not tired.
He sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. His fingers idly traced patterns on the sheets, lost in its softness. He should do something, he thought. Something to pass the time.
His eyes drifted to the small shelf beside his bed. A few books are stacked there, along with some trinkets and mementos. Too bad, he doesn't feel like reading, and he's not really in the mood for reminiscing.
He glanced at the clock. It's only 19:40 pm. Not that late. Perhaps, he should go back to see Aiho. Maybe they can talk or something. But she was asleep last he checked. He walked onto his door and peered outside. She was awake. But from what he could see, they're a bit busy with changing the blue haired woman's IV.
He sighed and leaned against the doorframe, watching them as they worked. The medical equipment whirred and beeped softly, a constant reminder of the fragility of life.
It's funny how things work out, he mused. He traced around his neck, a phantom pain reminding him of that night. Just a few while back, he was in the same position, hooked up to the same machines, his life hanging in the balance.
But it's not like he can really complain. Shinobu had given up more than he had. All he had to endure was a little bit of pain. She however...
He felt guilty for that girl. If only they had more time, things would've gone differently, maybe. But he couldn't change the past. All he can do now is make sure that he won't make the same mistakes again.
He stepped back into his room. The clock on his bedside table ticked softly, its hands slowly moving, marking the passage of time.
He sat down on the bed, crossing his legs, and began to think, looking around the room with a thoughtful expression on his face. Eventually, they stopped at a wardrobe, nestled at the corner. He eyed it for a moment, before slowly standing up and walking over to it. He opened the doors, revealing a mess of clothes and various other items.
At the very back, hidden among the mess, he found what he was looking for. A box. It's been a while since he last laid an eye on this thing. Maybe a year now, if he had to guess. He brushed off the dust and picked it up.
The box wasn't large, about the size of a... box. It was covered in dust and appears to be quite worn. Kuroko gave him this thing back then. For his 10th birthday.
Somehow, that day felt like a lifetime ago. 4 years sounds so short, but at the same time, so long. He sighed and sat down on the floor, crossing his legs, and opened the box.
Inside, neatly folded, he found a white scarf. It was still in its pristine condition. He didn't get the chance to wear it, at least not that much, what with the... things that had happened back then.
He took it out, running his fingers over its smooth surface. It was soft and gentle against his skin. Maybe it's time to give it a try.
He wrapped it around his neck, securing it with a knot. The soft fabric felt oddly comforting against his skin. It smells of dust, but it just mostly smells of his wardrobe, which is something he's used to. It's not like he had anything else with him that smelled like home.
He stood up, the box back in its place, the scarf still wrapped neatly around his neck. He likes it, he supposed. It made him feel... different. Maybe not better, but... different. Maybe he'll wear it to school tomorrow.
His head perked when the door creaked open. "Hirano, can you..." Tsuzuri's voice trailed off when she saw him. But the confusion was soon overpowered by a soft, nostalgic smile. "I remember that thing."
He nodded. She was present on his birthday. And if he recalled correctly, she was also the same person who did most of the decorations, at least in accordance to Aiho, telling that stuff just so he would thank her personally. He still finds it weird how just two words used to make him so nervous back then.
"Anyways, could you please go buy some things from the store? We need some medicine and stuff." She said, handing him a list. He took it, looking it over. Nothing too difficult to get. And at least it was an excuse to get out and do something. "I would've liked to go and get it myself, but..." She sheepishly smiled, scratching her cheeks.
"Yeah, sure." He said with a nod, stuffing the list into his pocket. "I'll be back soon." She thanked him. He walked out of the room, the soft sounds of their conversation trailing after him as he left the apartment room, down onto the lobby, straight out of it. The night air was cool and refreshing, the streetlights casting long shadows on the ground.
He took a deep breath, feeling reenergized. Maybe this was what he needed. A little bit of fresh air, a little bit of distance. And maybe, just maybe, he'll be able to get a good night's sleep after this.
With renewed vigour, he began to walk, the store just a few blocks away. The automatic door slid open, revealing the brightly lit interior of the shop. He walked up to the counter and placed the list on it. The cashier took it, scanning each item with a beep and a flash of light. He paid, then waited patiently for his change. Once it was done, he mumbled a quick thank before walking out again.
The late spring chill nipped at his exposed hands as he walked back to the apartment. It was a good thing that he wore the scarf. His power... he stopped using it. It's been a while since he's even felt it tugging at his consciousness, blocking the incoming information, the vectors.
The ties it had to his past, to that old life. That place where only darkness awaits him. He didn't want it anymore. He thought that without it, he'll be useless in the eyes of the scientists and researchers.
He took a halt when he heard a noise down the street. He looked at the source of it and saw a small group of people, creating a semi circle around something on the ground. He frowned, feeling a strange, unsettling sensation crawling up his spine.
He scratched his head. He went back to walking, away from the scene. The sooner he got back, the better. The last thing he needed was to be caught up in something he didn't want to be part of.
Yet when he stopped by the parking lot, just a few steps away from the entrance, he found himself unable to move. His feet felt rooted to the ground. He could feel his eyes twitching at the suddenness of this strange desire to see what was going on.
He took a deep breath and tried to talk himself out of it. It's probably nothing. Just some drunken idiots fighting or something. He's better off just ignoring it. He clenched his fist inside his pocket, willing his legs to move.
But they didn't.
Why did he feel the need to see? He wasn't a hero. He wasn't some paragon of justice. He was just a kid, someone who had survived by sheer luck and the intervention of a powerful being. He didn't have the training or the skill to make a difference in situations like this.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling. It was like something deep inside him was urging him to go and take a look. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind, to push away this strange urge.
But it was no use. He let out a sigh, a deep one that paints his face with a mix of exasperation and resignation. He gave up. He was going to see what was going on. He took a step back. And then another. And another. Soon, he found himself standing just several metres away from the gathered people.
The area was deserted except for these people, which shouldn't even be a surprise when all eyes were suddenly on him.
The group looked like the kinds of people that you'd find hanging out at the back of a club, or in some shady alleyway. Dressed in dark, baggy clothes and has the kind of expressions that hinted of a life lived on the wrong side of the law. Basically, a backstreet gang.
From here, he could see someone pressed on the wall. A boy from the looks of it. A black hair that appears to be protruding in all directions, as if the wind was blowing it back, and sharp features. He was pinned down by two of the gang members, while the rest stood around, forming a loose semi circle.
He looked terrified, if not, angry. His breathing was ragged and loud in the silence. Blood trickled down from his nose, mixing with the tears that slid down his cheeks.
It was then that one of them spoke to him. "The fuck are you doing here, kid?" He turned his gaze from the cornered boy towards the source of the voice. He blinked. "Well?"
The other guy, the one pinning the boy against the wall, snickered. "Why don't we take that one instead, this one ain't got shit."
Just as he had said that, they were already on the move. They were closing in on him, surrounding him. The air was thick with anticipation, with the promise of violence and pain. He swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry.
Hirano merely frowned. Finally, he speaks. "Cut it off and scram." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. The group stopped in their tracks, their movements suddenly frozen.
"Eh?" The one who had spoken before looked at him with a confused expression. "What was that, brat?"
He stared at them, unblinking. "I said, cut it off and scram." He repeated, his voice still soft, still calm.
There was something in his gaze that made the others shift uncomfortably. But unfortunately, thing's don't usually go that smooth, at least not so quickly. Because when someone caught a glimpse of his scarf, their eyes lit up in recognition.
"That brand. Bastard is loaded!" One of them exclaims in glee, reaching out almost instantaneously. When that person manages to grab a fistful of the scarf, it only took another moment for the rest of them to surge forward.
Seriously, why do expensive brands always have a recognizable pattern? I get that it's for trademarks and all that, but still... It makes stuff like this happen. People got mugged, some even killed because of these kinds of things.
Yet the result wasn't what one would expect. As much as the white haired boy hates using his power, it is still a part of him. And the instant he felt that the scarf was being pulled away, something snapped.
The first to try to pull it felt their finger crack, bent into a position that it shouldn't be able to bend in. The second one fared no better; her wrist snapped and folded. The pain was excruciating, and they screamed as their fingers shattered under the pressure.
The others were slightly worse as his anger rose as more and more reached out in that split second. The force was directed not just at their hands, but also at their arms. Bones snapped, skin split, and blood spurted everywhere as they were thrown back, their cries of pain echoing across the empty street.
In the span of just 1 second, all hell let loose.
The ones who were still standing around the cornered boy didn't seem to understand what was going on at first. Then, as their friends and comrades were sent flying back, their eyes widened in fear.
They looked at the one who was still standing in the middle of the chaos, clad in a white scarf, whose appearance seemed to be almost ethereal in the flickering light of the streetlights. Eyes and skin bright as snow, eyes red as blood.
It was a chilling sight. They didn't know what he was, or why he was here. They didn't know how strong he was, or what he was capable of. All they knew was that they were in his way.
Those who survived the onslaught of pain fled, disappearing into the night like a flock of startled birds.
The boy with the white scarf was left standing alone in the midst of the carnage, surrounded by the screams of the injured. There were bloods, a lot of it, but not a single drop had stained him.
Slowly, he turned his gaze towards the boy pressed against the wall. The fear in the boy's eyes, it was understandable. Afterall, he had just witnessed what he was capable of.
But the black haired boy wasn't the only one emotionally affected by the onslaught that had just taken place. There was a sense of numbness in the white haired boy's chest, a feeling of unreality. It was as if he had just woken up from a nightmare, only to find that the nightmare was still going on.
The frown on his face twists into something blank, expressionless. "You should get out of here." He says, his voice barely above a whisper.
The black haired boy blinks. He looks at the white haired boy, then at the bodies scattered around them. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. "Who... who are you?" He gasps. "Why did you help me?"
The white haired boy merely stared at him. "I'm not." He turns around, walking away from the scene. "Just forget about this."
The black haired boy watches as he disappears into the night, leaving him alone with the silence. He's not sure what just happened, or why that strange boy had interfered. All he knows is that he's alive, and that he should be thankful for it.
Carefully, he makes his way to his feet, wincing as pain shoots through his body.
Kamijou Touma was grateful for the act of kindness, even if the person who had commited such an act did it in a way that made it seem more like a chore.
He looked at the ground, at the blood and the bodies, and he knew that he couldn't go back to the life he had before. Not anymore. Something had changed, and he didn't know what it was. But he was determined to find out.
Slowly, he began to walk away, one foot in front of the other. Going back to where he came from.
Misaka Mikoto wasn't one to take praises way too seriously, and she was about as humble as anyone could get. Maybe a good one or two from people she considered close to her was alright, but too much of it was just plain annoying.
She'd received a fair share of praises, compliments and pats on the back ever since she'd been promoted to Level 5, and while she appreciated it, she was more than happy to finally have some time to herself and try to regain her composure.
The last few months had been quite hectic, what with the Daihasei Festival. The preparations for it and the actual event itself. The countless speeches, the innumerable photo-shoots, the endless interviews and the relentless media attention had left her drained.
Being the shining example of what an esper should strive to be, the mascot of Academy City itself... it all came with a heavy burden. She was the hope of her friends and peers, the idol of the younger students and the envy of so many others. Everyone expected her to be perfect, to always be strong, to never show any signs of weakness. It was exhausting, in all honesty.
Sometimes she just wished she could go back to the old days, when she was still a Level 1 and no one really cared about what she did or didn't do. Or maybe even before she'd gotten her powers. Life had been so much simpler back then.
She could feel her heart aching, morphing her facial expressions somber and distant. One that wasn't seen often, and certainly not by anyone who doesn't knew her well.
"Onee-sama?"
The voice was soft and gentle, like the touch of a feather. Her head subconsciously craned towards a certain girl, whose hair was tied into a twin tail, painted similarly like a ripe peach.
"Hmm?" Mikoto replied, snapping out of her thoughts.
"You're not touching your drink" the girl asked, her tone laden with worry. The drink she was referring to apparently was starting to form a thin layer of condensation on its surface, as the air around them was cool and crisp.
The short haired girl can only shrug at the other's question. "Its too cold. Not to mention, its october. Its not like I'm going to get heatstroke." she answered, her tone light and airy.
Kuroko continued to stare at her forlornly. "You can talk to me, yknow...?" she offered, reaching out her hand and gently patting the other girl's shoulder. "I'm here for you. Always."
The girl's words made the corner of Mikoto's lips twitch upwards in the faintest of smiles. It was easy to forget, sometimes, how much of a comfort Kuroko was. Especially when the girl genuinely tries.
She didn't really think much of the girl, at least not until recently. Recently, until the loss of several other people. They didn't die, she hoped. Merely just gone like the wind.
Misaka can only wonder where they were, what they were doing. "Thanks." she mumbled, feeling her heart ache again.
Kuroko smiled back warmly, and then turned her gaze back to the cityscape, lost in thought herself. Misaka's gaze on the girl's profile, she couldn't help but think that maybe she should talk to Kuroko more often. They did share a few similarities, after all. Both had their own problems, and both were lost in their own thoughts more often than not.
Maybe if she did, they could understand each other better, and maybe even help each other out. She couldn't tell what the other girl was thinking, but she knew what it was about.
"Do you ever wonder about him?" she asked quietly, not sure why the words just came out of her mouth.
The warm smile suddenly vanishes, and Kuroko stiffens. "Huh? Who?" she asks, her tone guarded.
Misaka hesitates for a moment before continuing. "You know... him." she answers, her voice barely above a whisper.
For a while there, the girl didn't respond. For a moment, silence dominates the air. Then, with a sigh, she turns to face Mikoto, her expression conflicted. "I... don't know what to think about him anymore, Onee-sama." she admits, looking down at the floor. "Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't."
Kuroko's mouth stays open, as if she's about to say something else, but then she closes it again, shaking her head slightly. "I don't want to think about him." She took another pause, this time to let out a shaky breath. "He once told me that to continue forward is to let go. So I did."
Misaka nods, understanding. It was hard, really hard, to not think about someone who was once so close to you. They were probably both in the same boat, just rowing in opposite directions.
She couldn't. Not because she doesn't have the capability to do it. More so because she doesn't want to. This guy was a part of her life, and she'd be damned if she'd just toss that aside like it meant nothing.
The same person whom she considers to be a big brother of some sort. The same person who got her in the position she was in right now. She was told a lot of time that she'll be where she is today even without help. But that don't just automatically make his efforts and sacrifices any less valuable.
It was then that the short haired girl let out a small chuckle. "I once told him that I was gonna protect him too." She confessed, her voice a mixture of sadness and amusement. "And to think that he left because of me..."
"No he didn't." The sudden tone of certainty made Misaka flinch, turning towards Kuroko, who's expression was uncharacteristically firm. "That stupid asshat left because he doesn't want to share his burdens." She snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. "He didn't leave because of you, Onee-sama. He left because he's a coward."
Misaka Mikoto was surprised. Not because of the sheer rage in Kuroko's eyes, nor was it because of the tears that began to form at the corners of them. Not even the words that she had just spoken, no matter how out of character it was for the twin tailed girl, especially when mentioning their white haired friend.
She knew that this girl wouldn't spoke such ill words. Not to him. Not to him of all people.
She was surprised at Shirai Kuroko for the lack of convictions in her voice, and the tears in her eyes that didn't seem to be there for the right reasons.
There was something that she isn't telling her. Something that she should, and she needs to, before it's too late. Something that she needed to hear, more than anything else.
Just as she was about to ask, they heard a voice from afar, exclaiming for the two.
Uiharu and Ruiko. They're here.
Kuroko wiped her face clean of any tears, and smiled, forcing herself to look happy. It was a look that didn't befit the girl.
Misaka watched as the two other girls bounces towards their table.
Her mind was in a state of overdrive. Why he stopped coming. Why he disappeared. Why he looked at her as if she was a ghost, as if he had done something irreverisble.
She will find out. And that was a promise.
We're closing in to finish. I wonder what i should write next after this fic?
Anyways. new chapter next week!