The Day the Sun Died || BNHA x Reader

⟶ PIROS

Sprouting from his left arm are the cinders of a blistering red, billowing in the wind like a crashing wave. The deathly frost melts while the flames grow, like a weed in a garden sucking the life of a fresh bush of roses. Wilting roses perish to the swan song of Hellflame, perilously encroaching on a soul that could've been. Todoroki loses himself to the fire, the words of his opponent shattering the shackles of an unprincipled childhood.

Pyres of a voluminous red emerge from every corner. From the fire that sit on the shoulders of Shouto, to the red half of his flickering hair, to the screaming of the crowd, to the leather seats she was sitting on, to the approval of a lackluster father, there was red. It was false. Fake. It was unoriginal and produced. Mass marketed and broken.

A lens or filter had to have been put over her eyes, she thinks. It's too much to be in one space at one time. The air is red and so is the sun, the fire that is smoldering is red, so is the immaculate concrete and the voices in the sky, the blood on Midoriya's face and misaligned digits on his hand are too, her tears are red as well as her blood, her breath, her hands, her emotions, her promise...it's all red.

That's what it is. It is red. Red is shame. Fear. She's done the very thing that she told herself that she wouldn't do—and she did it with pride. Her shoulder tense while a contradictory chill coils around her spine in the midst of a raging storm of fire, she feels a crow walk across her grave stone.

When she sees the frozen tundra grow from the right palm of Todoroki, she's already trying to navigate herself out of the row she was in. Y/N can sense the pressure growing in her chest, squeezing her head that the headache she's receiving is only increasing. Her tongue is feeling too big in her mouth and her hands are shaking, twitching so anxiously and sharply.

Her legs can't hold themselves up well from the speed she is moving, but there's not enough room in the isles for her to go so fast. In the upper row were five people including herself.

She sat on one end seat, alone, secluded, just how she wanted it to be after the pain in her chest had subsided and her encounter with Midoriya had faded away. The other end of the row sat four boys, Kirishima, Sero, Kaminari, and Bakugou, in that order. There's no way through the stands and towards the exit other than through them.

She's already stumbling at first, but, when the heat expands from Shouto, she knows what's coming. It's simple science. Cold condenses and heat expands. Two things cannot occupy the same matter at the same time. Basic. This is regular and well-known knowledge: correct? And when these principles are pushed together, the ideal of equal and opposite reactions are shown first hand.

She hates herself when the explosion goes off and she collapses like a broken tower of blocks. Her life folds in on itself while her hands try to cover her ears and her eyes are shut so tight. The wind flys and uproots concrete slabs and hauls them across the stadium. Her body's aching before the burst finishes. The ringing in her ears is doubled and she hates herself even more. She's been here before.

A hand lands on her shoulder when she realizes she's been curled up far too long. The explosion has come and gone and she's still on the ground, a quaking mess of memories and regret.

Her gaze meets the eyes of Kirishima. Worriment dazzles his features while his concentration skips all around her face—as if looking for injuries. She's okay, he notices. At least physically. A few more seconds pass, the world is unwavering and doused in smog. But through everything, she sees that his eyes are red.