[ dear reader who messaged me saying last chapter was bad and too confusing: that's how it's supposed to be. the reader is scared and has no idea what's going on; I made the writing style reflect that aspect of the story.
open your eyes and read, because I put more thought into this story than your average x reader smutty fanfic.
have fun with this chapter. sincerely, your dear amateur writer, who is surprised you made it this far into the book if you don't like how I write. and what you said wasn't criticism,
it was just plain rude. ]
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It's fine, it's fine. Everything's fine.
And you close your eyes, hoping to wake up in some other nightmare, refusing to believe the fact that this is real.
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Your muscles are stiff and your joints pop as you stretch. You don't know how long you've been asleep, but it's been enough to clear your mind. It was enough sleep so that you wake up, forgetting what happened for a brief moment, forgetting what you've done.
But then it hits you, like a hurricane washing over the shore, sweeping away remnants of abandoned homes.
You killed Ochaco Uraraka, right in front of Midoriya, who called you a monster.
Your eyes dart around the convenience store. Why are you still here? Why haven't you escaped this illusion yet? Is Kurai still playing his sick game?
It wasn't real, you tell yourself, this illusion is just lasting longer than the others.
Your doubt-fueled lies calm your heart, though only for a brief moment. You flinch when you hear the jingle of bells, meant to single a new customer. That fleeting sense of peace is gone again, replaced by a deadly, choking fear. It crawls up your throat, threatening a scream.
You cover your mouth and crawl to the back of the store, trying not to alert whoever entered the building. You hide, then listen closely, wondering who it could be.
They seem hurt, and their breathing is strained through clenched teeth. You can hear the quick rise and fall of their chest, and something smells as if it's burning. You cover your nose, disgusted by the stench.
Your headache returns, and you curse under your breath. Maybe there's some painkillers somewhere, or perhaps a cold compress? You can't heal the stinging with your quirk; no matter how many times you've tried, it's too persistent, and it always returns.
Your heart is pounding as you listen to the stranger fumble around the store, picking up something that sounds like a bag of chips. The familiar rustling draws a memory from the depths of your throbbing mind, making tears rise in your eyes.
Shinimi puts the bright yellow bag in between his teeth, struggling to open the chips. You shake your head slowly, holding out a hand.
"Lemme open it for you."
He crinkles his face like a forlorn kitty cat. "But this is how I always do it."
You laugh. "There's better ways."
You take it from him right as Midoriya walks into the room, grabbing both sides and trying to jerk it open. It doesn't budge.
You look at it quizzically, shaking it around with one hand.
"Why won't it open?"
You try your way again, failing, then looking at Shinimi. The teen shrugs. Midoriya walks over and plucks it from your hand, smiling in the shine of the convenience store lights.
"Do not fear," he grins, "because I am here."
He pulls, trying the same way you did, failing like you, too. A few more tries later and he gives up, ripping the bag open with his quirk.
Potato chips fall from the sky and you scold him as Shinimi grabs them from the floor.
You want to cry recalling the memory, back when your only troubles were opening a bag of chips.
The stranger seems to be having the same troubles of his own, and you can hear him muttering to himself. You creep through the store, hoping to get a look at him and searching the shelves for painkillers.
Maybe it's someone who can help you, you find yourself hoping. Maybe you'll be able to look at their eyes and finally have some conformation that this isn't real.
You stand, turning the corner with disparity fueling your movements. Upon hearing you, the stranger turns his head with a jerk.
You stare at his familiar eyes.
Black.
Not gray.
Black, and warm, and deep, like the familiar ocean threatening to fill your lungs.
And along with that conformation, the dark eyes that make your own fill with tears once again, comes a laugh, ripping from your throat as your knees buckle.
That hope that everything was a nightmare disappears, and you're not sure if you should even let yourself be happy. Still, you call his name.
"Shinimi?"
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