"You're giving me the look."
"What look?" He asked in confusion.
"Your 'I really wanna kiss you' look."
~
Grief-stricken, aspiring hero, Costa Miriara's life flips upside down when she transfers to UA High-school after a rough first year at Shikets...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
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{Starting Over}
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Word Count: 5,284
A young girl named Costa Miriara had won the Sports Festival, marking her place in Class 2A's ranking. They'd watched the entire thing, from start to finish, viewing her success and perseverance. She was talented, her skills in quirk-use enhanced by her natural combat abilities.
They'd branded her the name of 'The Wildcard' in her class. She was just that, wild.
Dabi's blue eyes were captivated by her moving figure in each match. The way she darted across the arena, it was as if she were a trained dancer. Light on her feet, swift and quick with each of her passes. Like a cat, she'd dart here and there- capturing her opponents with ease. A sense of superiority lingered after every battle she'd won- no, taken by force.
She was as bright as the sun, shining in the iridescent glow she manipulated with the twitch of her fingers. It flowed through her, around her, lighting up every soul that laid its eyes on her. She left them breathless, in awe of her beauty and grace. Pure curiosity drifted in her wake, as well as a fulfilling sense of release.
But that wasn't what had Dabi leaning forward, grazing the edge of his seat as they watched the screen, sitting in that dark room. It was the clips that'd shown her expressions. She had fiery intimidation that masked the sadness in her face. But he'd spotted the glimpses of loneliness in her slight frown within the first cuts they'd shown.
A young girl, as fierce as a preying tiger on a hunt, but as scarred as his own flesh. He was captivated by her dance, the chant of her astounding blows. She flitted around opponents, her eyes focusing on them- drawn to the flame of violence. His lips parted as the sadness of her dance intensified through each match.
He could feel that sense of misery that she carried with her, fuelling her to keep going. Fuelling her to fight, fight, fight. He could see it in the way her brow drew inward and her lips set in a straight line. He could feel it in each forceful pummel of her fists, throwing it out there for the world to see.
The others sensed it, but they couldn't feel it- not like he did. He watched Costa Miriara throughout the entire recording of the festival. A sense of familiarity blossomed in him as he observed her. It was as if she were someone he'd known all along, hidden beneath his own pain and traumatic memories.
She was the fuel of that fire that burned his skin. She was the beautiful, dancing, savage flame that had an unyielding grip on a sensitive place in his heart. She was... the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. The darkness behind her eyes, he suddenly felt himself reaching for it.
