BNHA || white lie

10

You twitch.

Your smile is slipping and your mood is growing sour. Flashes from phones and clicks from their camera apps surround you. The boy's mother encourages her son forward, and you lower yourself to address the boy.

"Hello," you say, trying to keep a cheerful grin on your face. He wiggles in timidity and eagerness.

"Hi, Atlas," he giggles, wringing his phone in his little hands shyly. "Could I take a picture with you?"

His mother clears her throats from behind him. "Please?" he adds.

You laugh. "Of course," you say as energetically as you can. "Come here."

You put your arm around his shoulders, still crouching down, as he holds his phone in front of you. You see yourself on the screen--your CIHA uniform still on, hair slightly messy. You don't want to ruin the picture so you hide your plastic bag behind the boy's tiny form. You look happy, untroubled, your little peace sign standing tall, as if it actually meant what it was named after.

But there is no peace in this world. He presses the camera button, and the screen goes black before returning to its happy image of you and the little boy.

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you!" he splutters, thrilled. His mother takes his hand again.

"No worries," you say brightly. "What's your name?"

He tells you, and you repeat it, telling him you'll do your best to remember it. But it is already slipping from your mind, a hopeless promise meant more for you than for him.

The name of a little boy, disillusioned by you, by the media, by heroes. You want to remember it. It is the least you can do, an apology for what you have done, for what you heroes have done.

(You won't. You know you won't. And it saddens you, knowing you can't even do something as simple as remembering.)

"I remember now! That's the new and promising young prodigy, Atlas--the hero who holds the world in their hands!"

Your smile does not falter.

---------

"Hey, have you seen this?"

Sero holds out his phone to his classmates. As usual, they are all gathered at the same lunch table, alone.

"Isn't that [L/Name]?" Kaminari questions. "What are they doing out in the city?"

"They said they were out for lunch," Hagakure says. "Looks like they were seen."

The phone displays a bold headline: 'NEW AND QUICKLY GROWING HERO ATLAS SPOTTED IN DOWNTOWN L.A.', it reads, in striking black kanji. The article was posted only a minute ago.

"Wow, they even had it translated to Japanese," Uraraka says, in awe. "News sure does travel fast."

Sero scrolls down the page, reading some parts aloud. "LA enthusiastically welcomes America's newest hero--who also seems to be their youngest. . .hero alias Atlas, whose real name was revealed to be [L/Name][Name], a heroics student studying at the prestigious CIHA. . .made their debut at what seemed to be a hopeless hostage situation, which, with their help, ended up resolved. . .their Quirk, spatial manipulation, has granted them the nickname of 'the hero who holds the world in their hands'. . .ah, here's a picture."

The black-haired boy flashes his phone at his classmates again, and they crowd around for a closer look. It is an image of you: you are smiling with crinkled eyes, facing a young boy, your warm beam directed at him. Ashido lets out a sound of surprise.

"Woah, they're smiling! I've never seen them smile."

"What kind of lame-ass name is 'Atlas'?" grumbles Bakugou as he leans away from the screen. Next to him, Kirishima grins.

"I think it sounds pretty cool!" he says.

Uraraka frowns. "They look kind of happy there, huh? [L/Name] always looks upset here. Do they really not like us that much?" Her words catch the attention of the freckled boy to her left.

"Huh? Happy? You think so?" Midoriya questions. He looks at the screen again, a little more closely.

"Even their smile. . .[L/Name] always seems kind of sad, don't you think?"

His classmates have no reply.

---------

"Sorry I'm late," you apologize. "It was a bit hectic today."

The dog growls in response, snarling and snapping. You sigh tiredly, then pop the tab on the can and pull the metal lid back. It hits the cement floor with a dull tap.

"I was in a good mood this morning. Best I'd been in weeks," you tell the dog. With a stick, you slide the canned food toward the old, worn cardboard. It disappears into its dark depths. You ramble on. "I even attended class--which is part of the reason why I'm late, by the way. I decided to come here during lunch instead of skipping my morning session. But then I was recognized in the streets. I was kind of surprised. I didn't think anyone knew me."

She barks angrily at the can as it is slid closer to her. You tilt your head, trying to peer into her box, to get a better look at her. It doesn't work.

". . .I don't deserve it though, right? Isn't it unfair that I get all this attention? When it should be. . ."

Blood.

So much blood.

You shudder at the memory. The stick cracks in your tense grip.

"I'm really sorry," you mumble to the poor, mangled dog. It is your fault she is like this. If it weren't for you, she would still have a home, a loving family, not this dark and musky alleyway with only a broken hero to tend to her.

You do not have the time to linger. The bag rustles when you lift it up, and the metal inside clanks in protest against the sudden movement. You pick up the old dog food cans and toss them in the dumpster. You take a quick peek behind you, just to check, only to see that the food has not been touched.

You leave quietly. A quick wave to Mr. Evans and you are off, walking along the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, losing your focus to the thoughts swirling in your head--the main one being concern, over getting recognized again. The fake smiles, the false cheeriness; you don't think you could handle another crowd today.

---------

EDIT: i have been informed that the wording around the end is a little wonky, but i dont know how to change it without making it awkward. no reader does not hurt the dog lmaoo, my bad. thank u for reading!