Perhaps a Better Place [A Dadzawa Story]

Basic: Chapter 27

After I change into the new sleeves, I look in the bathroom mirror. The color matches the school uniform skirt and it looks pretty cute. I take a second to admire it.

I unlock the door and walk out. Aizawa and Recovery Girl have abruptly stopped their conversation, and Aizawa looks almost angry.

"Ready for class?" He asks and I nod, grabbing my water bottle from the stand next to the bed I used. I tie my blazer around my waist until I get back to the classroom, where I can put it in my backpack.

He pushes open the door and lets me walk through first. He closes it after I hear Recovery Girl tell him, "We're talking about this later," and then we're walking back to Class 1-A together.

The silence is awkward after I literally poured out my feelings and thoughts over the phone. He doesn't say anything, or look at me, so I just put my hands in the pockets of my skirt and keep walking.

It's like that right up until we're walking down the hallway of the classroom.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask.

He actually looks at me. "What? Of course not. I'm just thinking."

"About?"

He's quiet again, then mumbles before he opens the classroom door, "Stuff for the future."

I nod, though his answer is incredibly vague and I don't know what he means exactly, but it's most likely not my business, or at least something I don't need to be concerned about yet.

When we walk in, Present Mic is teaching the class. Most glance over when we walk in, and only the people who were in here when I passed out keep looking.

I walk down the aisle and sit at my desk, and Tokoyami looks over at me. I simply nod and he understands, so he looks back to the front. The other people do, too.

***

When class ends, people pack up their things and head out. As I slip my notebook back into my bag, the two boys from earlier walk over and the red-head turns around, with Tokoyami and Shouji waiting by the door.

"Are you feeling better? That fall earlier looked painful," the red-head says with a nervous smile. What is his name?

"I'm okay," I say before zipping up my bag. "Just overheated. No big deal."

"Well, we're glad you're feeling okay," the blonde says with a smile. "Just keep drinking water and take it easy."

"Yeah," I mumble softly, then feel a small burst of courage in my chest, "thank you. For everything."

"No problem," the red-head says.

"Boys!" Someone yells as they hop into the room. It's Ashido. "We should probably get going if we actually want to eat lunch today!"

"Oh, coming," red-head says as he stands up and picks up his bag. He looks at me. "Like we said, just take it easy."

I nod before they turn and walk. Just before Sero leaves, I see his scraped up arm and call out to him. He turns his head.

"What's up?"

"Uh, just, thank you. For earlier, I mean. You know." I bring a hand up and rub the back of my head, which is completely unharmed. He grins.

"Don't even mention it! Hope the rest of your day is better," he says before stepping out.

And I smile to myself, because I do feel like the rest of my day is going to be better.

***

Aizawa seems angry as he drives the three of us home. Present Mic keeps looking over and mouthing things, even holding up a few hand signs that I don't understand, but Aizawa keeps waving him off and insisting he's fine.

I knew I shouldn't have told him. Did I just ruin everything?

Did I just destroy one of the last good things in my life because I can't keep my head in a good place?

I look out the window when I start crying and use my backpack to keep my face hidden, pulling my knees up and placing my bag on top of them.

A few seconds pass and someone turns off the radio. After a few more seconds, Present Mic speaks up.

"What's goin' on, kiddo? You're practically vibrating."

I look at my hands and realize they're shaking, and so are the rest of my arms and body and my stomach feels gross and my legs ache.

I don't trust my voice, so I hum vaguely.

Present Mic pokes my shoe and I jump lightly, pulling myself closer against the door.

My bag moves and I look, accidentally making eye contact with him. I quickly look back out the window. He pulls the bag off my lap.

"Hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I'm not," I mumble.

"Should I visit an optometrist? I think my prescription is wrong," he looks at Aizawa and Aizawa only shakes his head.

"What's up, kid?"

"I said I'm fine," even though I didn't, and I'm not.

"Mmmm, doesn't look that way. If you don't wanna talk about it, that's cool, but we're literally right here if you need to. What's said in this car, stays in this car."

A few minutes pass after Present Mic turns around again. I stare at the back of Aizawa's head.

"Are you sure you're not mad at me?" I ask softly, and he looks at me in the rear-view mirror.

"What? Kid, we already talked-"

"But that was hardly a real answer," I say, and he stops to think for a moment.

"No. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at a few things, but you're not one of them."

"But, earlier," my voice cracks due to the strain, "on the phone, what I said-"

"I know. I know what you said. I'm not mad about it."

A few seconds pass.

"Why?"

"Why?" he scoffs, almost laughing. "You're asking my why I'm not mad at you for telling me how you've been feeling and how things are affecting you?"

"Well... Yeah."

Aizawa and Present Mic exchange bewildered glances.

"Don't look at each other like that. I'm being serious."

"Sorry, you're right," Present Mic says, then continues to quietly listen.

"Alright, kid, listen. You've been through a lot. Not even recently, you've been going through Hell for years and yeah, I'm mad about it, about all of the shit I didn't prevent, but I'm not mad at you. I'm mad because you're still facing consequences for things that aren't your fault. I'm mad that your father still has it in your head that you're not supposed to be comfortable anywhere.

"When Mic told me you knocked on the door to your own home, I was beyond confused. When you were kicked out the morning I found you on your fire escape, I was absolutely infuriated with how your father treated you. I'm still pissed off with how they just locked you out of the house, (Y/N).

"I'm mad at your dad. I'm mad at your situation. I'm mad at myself for failing to realize how soon you needed help. I'm not mad at you. And I'm not mad at you for feeling unhappy, even after all we've done, as you put it. Because guess what? We've done the bare fucking minimum. We've given you a place to sleep, eat, and relax. That is not special.

"You don't feel like you deserve basic things, and that's a fucking problem. It's not your problem, though, it's something caused by years of neglect and, sorry to be blunt, child abuse. I know you're a smart kid. You're one of the smartest kids I know. And I know that you know you deserve basic human decency.

"For now, we're committing as much time as we can to make you comfortable. That's not a problem for us. It's not draining. It's not some sort of chore. It's my way of saying... sorry I didn't get to you sooner."

My eyes fill with water and I sob.

'Sorry I didn't get to you sooner.'