𝑳𝑬𝑺 𝑭𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑺 •𝒃𝒙𝒃•

Less of a burden ~ 18

He'd gone unconscious after a while—the pain was too much for him.

Each and every bone in his body ached. That was the first thing he noticed after he woke up. Everything hurt. He couldn't even sit up. The corners of his eyes stung with unshed tears and he did his best not to let them drop.

It didn't work.

He laid there, in the darkness, with his body throbbing with each sob that left his bruised lips.

And then the door opened.

Quiet footsteps approached him and he instantly realised that it wasn't his father. Somehow, he barely managed to turn his head to the side, just to be met with the sight of a woman.

She looked young—no older than twenty—and frail. She looked as if she would be blown away by the wind, "I'm... sorry," She whispered, voice so soft he barely heard it. Her figure neared him and he said nothing in reply. Why was she sorry...? She didn't do anything to him... "I'm sorry I can't save you."

She was... speaking in French?

The paleness of her skin was visible even in the darkness around them. Her touch was cold on his body and then everything inside him was lit aflame. An inaudible gasp left his lips at the scalding sensation. It was as if his insides were being burned out. His teeth clicked together in a futile attempt to stifle his screams.

It didn't work.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." The woman would repeat, fingers pressing into his skin, "This will all be over soon, don't worry... You'll feel better afterwards..." She would promise, her voice trembling with each word she said.

And then the perpetual look of her apologies would start again.

_

The next time he woke up, she was nowhere to be seen. Light had peeked through the blinds, allowing the room to be rid of the darkness. He blinked, confused as to why his body no longer ached.

He flexed his fingers and realised that they were no longer hurting.

Had that woman...? Was that her quirk...? Healing...?

Choosing to test it, he made move to sit up and found himself doing so without any resistance. So he was healed? Moving to the side, he got onto his hands and knees, before a light sigh left him.

The blood was still there—dry and flaking on his skin.

He pushed himself to his feet and lightly wobbled as he made his way towards the bathroom. The bright light hurt his eyes, but he ignored it, choosing to head over to the sink.

And then, he was greeted with his reflection.

Nothing was wrong.

He looked as if yesterday's events never happened. The only thing that indicated that it even happened, were the dried bloodstains all over his skin. Even the previously ripped shirt was in pristine condition.

His father made sure Yuma wouldn't draw attention to himself with the wounds. That was why the woman was sent to his apartment... But, she spoke in French. Had his father brought her along with him in advance? How thoughtful of him...

The hard surface of the sink felt cold when he gripped it and his knuckles went white from the force he used. Hot tears slid down his pale cheeks, lightly splatting onto his pale hands as he averted his eyes. How unfair of him...

He left. That much was obvious to Yuma. He was probably already halfway to France at that moment.

So? He came to beat him and left?