The damage caused by the villains downtown was sad beyond words.
Everywhere, buildings were in ruins, burned to the ground, some still emitting wisps of smoke that spiraled in the humid late July air. Everywhere, grave-faced heroes were lending a hand to the police investigating the events. Everywhere, people were crying over the loss of their homes, businesses or, even worse, loved ones. Everywhere I looked, there was horror. And it was totally heartbreaking.
For long minutes, I had been wandering aimlessly through the streets alongside Fuyumi, who had insisted on accompanying me when I had expressed the desire to go and see by myself the extent of the villains' attack. We were both speechless at the sight of that real butchery.
When I had called Fuyumi to make sure she was okay, she had told me how the emergency evacuation of the elementary school where she worked - the same school we had attended as kids - had gone. As soon as the principal had heard about what was happening outside, he had ordered the immediate transport of the children out of town, even before the police had time to react. Buses had been sent to pick up the students and staff. Barely ten minutes later, half the building had been destroyed by blue flames. By acting preventively, the director had saved the lives of a hundred children, and this ordinary man had become their hero.
"Look at that," Fuyumi suddenly said as she pointed to the right, snapping me out of my thoughts.
We had just arrived near the school and I turned my eyes to observe it. Much of the building had gone up in smoke. Among the debris were countless pieces of broken glass, half-burned desks, soot-coated chairs and a whole heap of school belongings that had been left behind when the school was evacuated.
"I still can't believe it," murmured my best friend in a shaky voice. "My class was right there. Can you believe it? There's nothing left... Oh, my poor students... they could have died!"
My friend stifled a sob. I turned to her, holding back my tears with difficulty, then drew her into my arms and held her close.
"The headmaster is a real hero," I said, stroking her back to comfort her. "Thanks to him, you're all safe and sound, and that's all that matters now."
"Y-yes... I was so scared!"
"It's all over now," I murmured, feeling my heart clench painfully at the thought of my best friend's near-death experience.
Fuyumi sniffed as she returned my embrace, then pulled away to glance tearfully at the school.
"I don't know when I'll be able to start working again," she said. "I have no idea what will happen now..."
That was definitely my Fuyumi. She had witnessed a villain attack first-hand, she could have died, and all she could think about was getting back to work!
"Why don't you start by taking a few days off," I said, holding back a discouraged sigh. "The children will probably be transferred temporarily to the other elementary school on the east side of town. At least, until this one is rebuilt... and you'll certainly be able to teach there. They probably won't have enough teachers to accommodate that many students."
"You're right," she breathed, unconsciously replacing her square glasses. "I can't think straight since yesterday. My brain's all jumbled up."
"Well, that's normal. You've been through something extremely upsetting. Give yourself some time."
"Thank you... I'm glad you're here, (Y/N)."
"I'm even happier that you weren't hurt."
We exchanged a smile.
"I really wonder what villain did this," she said, wiping away her tears. "I just can't understand how someone could be so evil and hostile as to prey on defenseless children... on top of all the damage he's done in town!"
"I-I know," I stammered, looking away. "It's really horrible... The guy who did this is a monster."
I swallowed hard. I had obviously told Fuyumi about my evening the day before, recounting the events at the hospital. The only detail I had left out was that I had heard the name of the raving lunatic.
I had never told Fuyumi that I nicknamed her older brother 'Dabi'. After all, it was only between Touya and me. She wouldn't have been able to make the connection with her brother if I had revealed the villain's name to her; however, for the time being, I preferred to keep this information to myself.
Just in case.
Fuyumi had been the only person around me to fall victim to the attack. At the time of the incident, Natsuo was at a college friend's place, miles away; Shouto was training with his father outside the city; my mother was taking care of one of her patients, in the west of the city; and my father was working at his restaurant, located in the heart of downtown, but which had miraculously been spared.
And that gave me even more reason to doubt the villain's identity. Had he deliberately avoided burning down Dad's restaurant?
Obviously not. I was being ridiculous. Grotesque, even. Despite these few troubling coincidences, I tried my best not to delude myself. My Dabi was dead and would never come back. The other was just a creep with the same nickname and a strangely similar Quirk. I wanted so desperately to believe that Touya was still alive, out there somewhere, that I was becoming paranoid.
Nevertheless, against all odds, even after I had come to my senses when the drug had worn off, I hadn't given up on the goal I had set myself the day before: to find that villain.
And that's when, as I looked at my childhood best friend who was starting to shed tears again as she stared back at the school that had seen her grow and flourish, I made a definitive decision.
I would officially begin my search for this asshole tonight.
**
Maybe I had thought too big.
Just over three weeks had passed and the end of August was fast approaching. Downtown Musutafu was slowly recovering from the attack. While the buildings were gradually being rebuilt, people had stopped talking about it, trying to forget the tragedy. For my part, despite the time that had passed, I was forced to admit that I still hadn't found out anything about the mysterious 'Dabi'.
At first, I hadn't really known where to look, nor where to start. What did I expect, anyway? Signs with bright arrows pointing the way to the hideout of the country's most wanted criminal organization? Even the police and the best superheroes couldn't locate them, for fuck's sake! And I, a naive little insignificant woman, really thought I could do better than them?
The first evening, I had wandered alone for hours, once again observing the ruins of downtown, then the buildings a little further north. I had also looked at the people who crossed my path without really seeing them, unconsciously searching for his face, his eyes, his hair. What would he look like today, if he were still alive? Needless to say, I had asked myself this question countless times before. To make matters worse, since I had returned to Musutafu, my imagination had become increasingly carried away, and I seemed to see him absolutely everywhere. However, I was certain of one thing: if he had been alive - which he wasn't - and I came across him - which would never happen - I knew I would recognize his turquoise eyes, which were as brilliant and mesmerizing as an aquamarine.
Because you never forget eyes like his. Never.
On the second evening, I had ventured into the eastern part of the city, without finding the slightest clue. On the third evening, I had gone west with the same result, and on the fourth, to the south. As expected, I had come up with nothing.
In the weeks that followed, between the time I spent looking for an apartment - a difficult task since the destruction of downtown -, the time I spent with my family and friends, and the extra hours at work, I was barely able to investigate. I sometimes felt dizzy, as if I were watching my life flash before my eyes without really being able to live it. Nevertheless, as soon as I had free time, I continued my research, albeit with waning motivation. What was the point of continuing to search if I never discovered anything? It was a futile quest, colossal in scope and hopeless.
Despite my discouragement, a few days earlier I had started frequenting the local bars - at least those that hadn't burnt down in the attack - thus combining business with pleasure. Between drinks, I would ask the regulars questions, trying to find the slightest clue that would put me in touch with a member of the League. But as always, I had found nothing, apart from a few serious migraines typical of hangovers.
It seemed that no one in this godforsaken city knew of a villain who, one thing leading to another, could lead me to that damned Dabi!
I was getting seriously exhausted by all this, but I was holding on. Of course, I hadn't told my parents or friends what I was doing, as I knew they would have done everything to stop me venturing into this unknown and highly dangerous kind of stuff. This was a project I had to do alone. I had to find this guy. To tell him what? And to do what? I had no idea. All I knew was that I had to meet him.
Without understanding why, I had the impression that it was a matter of life and death... I had the feeling that if I gave up now, it would be like leaving Touya to his fate a second time.
Ridiculous, wasn't it? Yeah, I knew. He was fucking dead! It was NOT him!
But from the day I had heard his name at the hospital, that fake Dabi had become my obsession.
**
I sipped slowly at my glass of Green Fairy, brooding over dark thoughts.
Once again, despite my best efforts, I hadn't found a clue about the fake Dabi. That evening, I had been to four different bars and absolutely no one had been able to give me any information. I had dared to approach the most unsavory, the most suspicious and the most unpleasant customers, trying to get some information out of them. I had even started proclaiming loud and clear that I was trying to get in touch with the League of Villains to give them a contract, at the risk of getting myself into deep shit! But it was no use: most people knew absolutely nothing about them, and the few people who might have been able to help me weren't taking me seriously. What the hell did I have to do to get someone to lead me to one of them? Any villain would do. All I needed was some bait. Then I would figure out how to get to him. But damn it, for that to happen, I had to be able to start somewhere!
I was at this point in my reflections when a man came and sat to my left, brushing my knee with his. Ignoring him, I took a sip of absinthe that burned fiercely in my esophagus before slowly making its way down to my stomach, spreading a sensation of heat within me that was worthy of hellfire.
A few minutes later, the woman behind the counter came over to take the man's order. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the barmaid flinch and try to awkwardly disguise an expression of disgust. Was the guy that ugly? Confused, I raised my eyes to look in his direction, but the large black hood of his sweater completely hid his face. Too bad.
Turning my attention back to my drink, I started thinking again about the best tactics for contacting the League, while the barmaid went to prepare the man's order, which I hadn't heard. So, when she returned with a glass of Green Fairy, I raised my eyebrows in astonishment. Rare were the people who drank this strong alcohol - strong being an understatement in this case. This guy had taste.
A sudden thought crossed my mind: was this the same guy I had met in a bar last June? The one who was drinking precisely that alcohol and had left without paying? Perhaps it was. But I couldn't care less. This detail was monumentally insignificant and it was surprising that I even remembered it.
I raised my glass to my lips once more, then turned my head to the right to observe the bar's other customers on the sly. Most of them were young people enjoying their last days of vacation before the new school year started, and I was amused to think that the vast majority of them must not even be of legal age to be there.
I turned to take another sip, and it was then that the man to my left spoke to me, making me jump slightly.
"Nice t-shirt."
His voice was deep and particularly hoarse, husky, as if muffled. Disconcerted, I glanced at the garment I had quickly put on after showering when I got home from work that afternoon. It was one of my old Metallica t-shirts.
"Thanks," I whispered.
The man didn't reply, simply raising his glass to his face, which was still hidden from my view. I tried to get a better look at him, but to no avail; the man's sweater camouflaged absolutely everything. Even the sleeves were so long that they hid a good part of his hands. It was as if this guy was trying to make himself invisible.
I was about to sip my absinthe when he spoke again.
"Are you the kind of chick who wears a band t-shirt and doesn't even know what it is?" he inquired in his strange, but not unpleasant voice.
"Try me," I replied, a smirk stretching my lips.
I heard the man stifle a chuckle. Waiting for his reply, I reached into the back pocket of my jeans for my pack of cigarettes, lifted one to my lips and lit it with my lighter.
"The singer's name?" he asked after a short silence.
"You could have picked a harder one," I retorted, taking my first puff. "It's James Hetfield."
"What year did they form?"
"1981."
"Name three songs that aren't hits."
"Phantom Lord, Damage, inc. and Ain't My Bitch."
"I must admit, I'm impressed... And what's your favorite song?"
"I have many, but I really like The Unnamed Feeling. I think that the album St. Anger is seriously underrated."
"Okay, princess. You pass the test."
Usually, I just told the guys who called me 'princess' to fuck off. But strangely enough, this time it didn't bother me.
I chuckled as I took another drag from my cigarette, then took another swig of alcohol.
And then, without any warning, a man appeared to my right and slipped his arm around my shoulders, startling me...
...and making the other guy run away.
**
I had just sat down at the back of the bar with the idea of drinking a whole bottle of whisky when my gaze fell on her.
There she was, just a few feet away, in front of me, sitting alone at the counter and sipping a glass of Green Fairy.
When I had seen her the night I arrived in Musutafu, I had fled without even glancing at her. This time, however, I couldn't resist watching her without her knowing for a long time, taking advantage of the distance between us and the fact that she couldn't see me from where she was sitting.
Even though I hadn't seen her in almost ten years, I knew it was her. She hadn't changed, yet she didn't look like herself anymore. She had obviously aged; her little-girl features were now those of a beautiful, seductive young woman. What struck me the most, however, was her expression. (Y/N) no longer looked like the happy, playful, innocent little girl she had once been.
She wore black make-up, which accentuated the dark circles that darkened her eyes. Her features were drawn, as if she hadn't slept in days. She looked depressed, worn down by time and life. In fact, she had the disillusioned air of someone who has seen it all, gone through the worst obstacles and had her innocence stolen.
And for the first time in ages, I felt an emotion come over me. An emotion that felt a hell of a lot like regret, with hints of bitterness as a bonus.
I had always found her beautiful, but I had the impression that her beauty had been sublimated over time. She was beautiful, in her melancholy, in her perceptible suffering. She was beautiful, not in a false, artificial way, but rather in a dark, indecipherable way. Inaccessible, even. She was beautiful, like a fallen angel, like a child who had aged too quickly through the harsh trials of this fucking life. A sickening feeling of guilt suddenly gripped my gut. Was it my fault? Was it because of my death that she seemed so... changed?
No... It was insane to think that. I was insane. Once again, I was giving way too much importance to myself. I'd had cruel proof of that, with my family: the whole world had forgotten me and there was no reason why (Y/N) should be any different from the others. She might once have been my only lifeline and I had no doubt that she would have suffered from my absence in the early days, but it was unthinkable that I was the cause of her current pain. It was absurd to believe - or to hope, I should say - that she hadn't managed to forget me. Nearly ten years had passed since my supposed death, after all. And I was well placed to know that time can change a person, and not always in a good way...
Suddenly, a waiter approached me, snapping me out of my thoughts. However, rather than place my order, I got up with the firm intention of leaving. There was no point in standing there staring my past in the face. It was real torture to be so close to her without being able to talk to her. But despite my desire to run away again, my steps unconsciously led me to her. What the hell was wrong with me? It was out of the question for me to come back into her life, so why? All in all, I had to be a masochist to voluntarily inflict such torment on myself.
I mentally called myself an idiot as I sat to her left, and when my knee brushed hers as she had done nearly two months earlier, I felt so enraged that I wanted to incinerate myself a second time - but on purpose, this time.
To my relief, she had no reaction. Perfect. It wasn't too late to leave.
As I moved to get up, I could see her taking a sip of absinthe out of the corner of my eye - I had been very surprised the first time she had ordered it by the way. It was the nectar of the undead, usually...
The alcohol of those with nothing left to lose.
As she set down her glass, her perfume wafted up to my nose. And I remained paralyzed, unable to flee as I had intended.
Her scent... it was the same as in the old days. A sweet, subtle, intoxicating floral aroma that had always soothed me even in my worst days. An addictive fragrance I hadn't smelled in so fucking long... and thought I would never smell again.
A violent, visceral desire to bury my nose in her neck to inhale her scent took hold of me, but fortunately, at that very moment, the woman behind the counter came over to take my order. That shitty bitch flinched at the sight of my face, trying in vain to disguise her disgust, and a smirk stretched my lips. I was used to this kind of reaction. As a kid, I was humiliated and hurt by that, but over time, I had learned to laugh about it. It genuinely amused me to scare people, to frighten all those vile, hypocritical clowns.
Then I felt (Y/N)'s gaze land on me. Obviously, the barmaid's horrified expression must have caught her attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I made sure that the wide hood of my sweater was hiding my face, then simply pointed a finger at (Y/N) without saying a word. The waitress understood and went off to prepare my drink.
A few minutes later, she came back to me and placed my drink on the counter, before striding away, almost in a hurry. She was definitely terrified by my appearance. A new smirk stretched my lips as I took my first sip, then, unable to stop myself, I dared a quick glance at (Y/N). Her head was turned to the right; she seemed to be observing the bar's customers. I took the opportunity to have a closer look at her. She was wearing faded black jeans, with holes at the thighs and knees; black converse shoes that looked as if they had been to war, so battered were they; a Metallica t-shirt with the illustration almost erased; and a black and grey tartan shirt, with the sleeves rolled up over her forearms. Her (H/C) hair was pulled up into a messy bun, into which I would have gladly stuck my fingers to stroke the back of her neck. Her figure had slimmed down since we were teenagers, and I couldn't help noticing that her curves were much more generous than I remembered - and had dreamed about.
As I watched her, I unwillingly felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach, and a good amount of my blood rushed to a precise point a few inches below my navel. It was confirmed: she was even more beautiful than before. Back then, I was far too young to understand the effect she had on me... but more importantly, I was far too obsessed with my training to allow myself to think about girls. Today, however... I had to admit it: (Y/N) was incredibly desirable.
But unfortunately, she was forbidden to me.
I was brought back down to earth when she turned to take a sip. I turned away sharply, my heart pounding, and praying that she hadn't caught me staring.
On the other hand, I was rather surprised by my heart's exaggerated reaction. (Y/N) was surely the only person in the world who was still able to make me experience such emotions. I had long since become an empty shell... except in her presence, obviously.
And then, without any warning and for no apparent reason, my breathing quickened, my palms grew sweaty, my mouth went dry and I felt a deep, irresistible need to talk to her. I knew, however, that she no longer belonged to the same world as me, and that it made no sense to speak to her... I had no right to, but on the other hand, I also knew that this opportunity would probably never arise again. So... why not? Just once...
Yet I had no idea what to say. I was now a stranger to her and had to remain so. However, the urgency to talk to her became more and more insistent and I felt almost suffocated by this desire, oppressed. So I uttered the first words that crossed my mind, without even being able to stop myself:
"Nice t-shirt."
Nice t-shirt. Really? That was the most brilliant thing I had to say to her after all this time? Well, bravo. I would have shot myself on the spot if I'd had a gun in my hand. What a fucking jerk! But at least, this way, the chances of having a conversation that would compromise my identity were reduced to zero...
"Thanks," she whispered.
Holy mother of God. Her voice. Her beautiful voice... I had heard it in the bar two months earlier, but this time it was different. Because it was me she was talking to.
I still wanted to hear it. No, not wanted: needed. Thinking about what else I could say to her, I raised my glass to my lips, making sure the sleeve of my sweater hid the skin of my wrist, then swallowed the cold liquid, which paradoxically burned my esophagus before slowly making its way down to my stomach, spreading a sensation of heat within me that was worthy of hellfire.
And then, with my usual impulsiveness, new words crossed the barrier of my lips without me being able to hold them back.
"Are you the kind of chick who wears a band t-shirt and doesn't even know what it is?"
Fuck, I was worse than ridiculous. Someone put me out of my misery, for heaven's sake!
"Try me," she replied in an amused tone.
I stifled a chuckle. She might have changed, but she hadn't lost her sense of repartee.
Try her, eh?
As I pondered the best questions to ask her – honestly, I couldn't care less whether she really knew Metallica or not; all I cared about was hearing her voice again! – I felt her stir beside me. I risked a quick glance in her direction to see her lighting a cigarette.
Normally, I didn't give a shit when I saw women smoking. But her... It was both strangely sexy and disconcerting to see her with a fag. I had no idea she had taken up smoking... and it was then that I realized I didn't know her at all anymore. My (Y/N) was now a stranger, just as I was to her.
A stranger I desperately, violently wanted to get to know again.
But it was impossible... for her own good.
Once I had recovered from my temporary turmoil, I threw out a first question.
"The singer's name?"
"You could have picked a harder one," she retorted, taking a drag from her cigarette. "It's James Hetfield."
"What year did they form?"
"1981."
"Name three songs that aren't hits."
"Phantom Lord, Damage, inc. and Ain't My Bitch."
"I must admit, I'm impressed... And what's your favorite song?"
"I have many, but I really like The Unnamed Feeling. I think that the album St. Anger is seriously underrated."
"Okay, princess. You pass the test."
The nickname had just popped out, but unlike many of the women I had ever called 'princess', she didn't even seem to bother. On the contrary: she chuckled as she took another puff of her fag, then reached for her glass to take a sip.
The Unnamed Feeling, eh? A song about depression, and more precisely about the anxiety a person feels before losing control... Interesting. Without her having to say anything, (Y/N) had just taught me a lot about herself.
A strange feeling came over me. This new version of (Y/N), though dark and disturbing, was very appealing to me. A little too much, in fact. Actually, if that were possible, I thought she was even more attractive than before.
It was getting dangerous.
And then, as I risked another glance at her, I saw a young man with white hair approach her and wrap his arm around her shoulders.
I didn't even bother to think.
Out of reflex, I leapt from my seat and broke through the crowd to get away as fast as I could.
Damn, that guy...
Had he seen me?
Had he recognized me?
My little brother...
Natsuo.
**
Disconcerted by the sudden disappearance of the stranger to my left, I fluttered my eyelids as I turned slowly towards the man who had just embraced me.
"Hey, Natsu!" I said to my friend as I recognized him.
"Yo!"
A broad smile lit up his face. Truly happy to see him, I smiled too and stood up to hug him.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, releasing him.
"I'm with some mates," he said, pointing to a table a little further on where three boys and two girls were sitting. "They wanted to get drunk, to... um..."
"Forget the end of summer vacation?" I guessed, amused.
"Yeah, that's right," he replied, laughing. "Hey, who was that guy chatting with you?"
"No idea," I said, shrugging. "Let's just say we didn't really have time to get acquainted... You seem to have scared him off."
"He looked strange," he retorted, frowning. "I didn't get a good look at him, but his face seemed... well... unusual."
"Really?" I asked, falsely surprised.
The barmaid's disgusted reaction was genuine, then.
"He also looked like a creep," added Natsuo.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know," he said, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Just a bad impression... Anyway, it doesn't matter. Would you like to join us?"
"Certainly."
**
It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when I left the bar, arm in arm with Natsuo.
Once outside, we said goodbye to his college friends - who were very nice, by the way - and then we walked away.
"Would you like me to walk you home?" Natsuo breathed, the shadow of a smile floating vaguely across his lips.
"No, thanks," I said. "We can walk a little bit together, but I don't need you to walk me to my door."
"You know, you're a lot more independent than I remember," my friend chuckled.
"Why do you say that?"
"Oh, for nothing..."
A short silence followed.
"Do you think that if... if all this hadn't happened... Hmm... Nah, never mind."
"All this, what?" I said softly. "Hey, what's wrong, Natsu?"
"Well..." mumbled Natsuo, letting go of my arm to slip his around my shoulders once more, as we strolled nonchalantly down the deserted street.
He sighed.
"I just think Touya's death has changed us all deeply," he murmured.
I didn't know exactly why, but my friend's words, simple as they were, shocked me. It was so rare for Natsuo to utter the name of his deceased older brother...
"You bet," I replied in a hushed voice.
"Sometimes I think his death affected you more than any of us," he added. "You were closer to him than I ever was, and yet I was his favorite in the family... Looking back, I think you knew my brother better than I did."
"I... I don't know," I stammered, embarrassed. "I wouldn't go that far... I just knew him in a different way, that's all."
Natsuo remained silent for a few moments.
"I'd be very happy to walk you home, you know," he insisted. "The streets aren't safe at this hour... Especially since the attack downtown. I'd feel a lot more secure if you'd..."
"I have nothing to fear," I interrupted gently. "I know how to defend myself, Natsu."
"No offense, but I doubt it. You wouldn't stand a chance if you came face to face with the madman who burned down the city."
I swallowed.
"Depends," I replied.
"On what?"
"Everyone has a weak spot, Natsu. You just have to find it."
My friend laughed.
"You're funny. You think you'd have time to analyze the guy in front of you to find his weak spot, right in the middle of a fight to the death?"
"No idea. If not, all I'd have to do is give him a well-placed kick before running away."
We laughed. A new silence followed, and after a few more minutes of walking, we reached the intersection that was to separate us.
"It's been really cool evening with you, (Y/N)," said Natsuo, flashing me a smile. "Thank you for joining us."
"Thank you for inviting me."
His smile widened, then he tightened his arm around me to give me a hug before placing a friendly kiss on the top of my head.
"Be careful on your way home," he said, stepping back.
"I promise. I'll text you when I get home to reassure you, just like last time."
"Deal."
He gave me a knowing wink, then waved one last time before turning to walk away. I stood there for a few moments, watching the darkness of the night engulf him, then when he was out of my sight, I turned right, heading in the opposite direction to my parents' house.
I had one last stop to make before heading home.
**
What were the chances I would run into (Y/N) twice in one fucking evening?
Indeed. Zero.
And yet, there she was again, right in front of me.
I was enjoying a cigarette, stretched out on a bench park a little less than a mile from the bar, when I spotted my little brother in the company of (Y/N). Curious, I spontaneously decided to follow them as they walked away, making sure to keep a certain distance between us.
From where I stood, I couldn't hear their conversation, but that didn't matter. The mere sight of the two of them together was enough to arouse a boundless rage within me, combined with a devastating jealousy.
I felt a sudden urge to destroy everything, and I had to force myself not to give in to the temptation to set fire to whatever was in my way. A few weeks earlier, I had done a lot of damage in downtown Musutafu when Shigaraki had ordered us to mess things up. I'd had a lot of fun that day. However, I knew the bastard would be furious if I did it again now. I certainly didn't intend to ask his permission every time I would like to set the town on fire, but anyway, I was already wanted by the police and by the fucking heroes, and I preferred not to draw too much attention to myself at the moment.
I wasn't really trying to hide in the public eye, but the time hadn't yet come for me to make my comeback.
However, despite my misgivings, I had to admit that at that very moment, the urge to destroy everything in my path was powerful, almost uncontrollable.
I wanted to kill.
Why the hell was Natsuo sticking to her like that, huh? First the hug in the bar, and now his arm around her shoulders as they walked! What a dickhead!
Oh, I had no illusions: (Y/N) would never be mine and she had certainly moved on, which meant she might actually have a boyfriend - as long as it wasn't my own fucking brother, dammit! Besides, if I knew absolutely nothing about the life she now led, I was at least certain of one thing: she might have liked me in the past, but she would deeply hate who I had become...
I followed them for a long time, brooding over my murderous thoughts and controlling my destructive impulses as best I could.
It was unfair.
I was the one who should have been there, instead of Natsuo.
They finally came to an intersection. Natsuo seemed to be saying goodbye to (Y/N) - holy fucking shit Natsu, a kiss on the head, really? You really wanna die tonight, buddy! – and he finally walked away in the direction of the Todorokis' home. The first good news of the evening: they seemed to have more like of a brother/sister relationship than a romantic one. At least that was something.
For a few moments, (Y/N) stood there, then turned on her heels and walked off to the right, in the opposite direction to her parents' house. Where the hell was she going? Did she even still live with them? There was absolutely nothing out there...
I frowned, thrusting my hands into my trouser pockets. I knew it wouldn't be reasonable to follow her...
But I had stopped being reasonable a long time ago.
So I started walking again, keeping my distance from her. After all, I didn't want her to realize she was being followed, and I didn't want to frighten her either. I had fun terrifying people, but not her.
For almost twenty minutes, we headed north. I was seriously beginning to wonder about her destination. Was she simply walking aimlessly, for fun? I couldn't believe she could be stupid enough to take the risk of wandering around at such an hour, with all those assholes hanging around. She had to be going somewhere, there was just no way...
Suddenly, she stopped and glanced behind her. Surprised, I hid behind a tree, my heart pounding once again. Then I heard a shrill noise, similar to the creaking of a heavy door.
Intrigued, I risked a glance behind the tree trunk to see (Y/N) scurrying behind a tall black wrought-iron gate.
The cemetery.
Who the hell was she going to pay homage to in the middle of the night?
Increasingly curious, I hurried after her, slipping easily through the gap in the cemetery gate, and then, thanks to the cold, opalescent glow of the moon shining high in the sky, I spotted her silhouette several feet ahead. She had stopped in front of a grave set back from the others at the far end of the cemetery.
I crept closer, then ducked behind a tall, broad weeping willow, just a few steps from her.
Finally, I was able to read the epitaph engraved on the tombstone.
Here lies Touya Todoroki
Beloved son of Enji and Rei
Cherished brother of Fuyumi, Natsuo and Shouto
Forever in our hearts
Oh, shit. It was my own fucking grave.
And it was full of odious lies that made the blood boil in my veins.
And it was at that very moment, as I felt my heart drop cruelly to the bottom of my chest as I discovered where I had been 'buried', that I heard the worst noise in the world.
The worst. The most horrible, the most terrifying, the most painful.
And yet, under the circumstances, I selfishly thought it was also the most beautiful.
My (Y/N) was crying.
*****
Hello! :) You've all confirmed that you like long chapters and I think you've been served with this one, haha! :')
Since I hadn't posted in almost a month due to the time-consuming Kinktober (damn, I wish I could write full-time sometimes...!), I completely let myself go with this chapter.
I hope you enjoyed it, because as usual, I really loved writing it!
I also hope you weren't too confused by the changes of point of view between Dabi and (Y/N), since I didn't "identify" them... I tried to make it as clear as possible! Also, I have to admit that Dabi's points of view are harder to write than I had anticipated; after all, he's a complex character and it's hard to stay true to his true self. I'm doing my best, I promise! :')
Yep, finally, our protagonists have had a first contact! :D
Did you sense Dabi's inner struggle with (Y/N), by the way? I think my favorite part is their conversation in the bar, as seen through Dabi's eyes. I had a lot of fun writing that.
Do you think (Y/N) will manage to find the "fake Dabi"?
And what do you think of the latter's jealousy? ;-)
See you soon <3