Her head moves up and down gently on his stomach, keeping time with his breathing, like a buoy bobbing at sea. Her eyes are still closed, a sense of calm covering her face. Every once in a while, her eyelids flutter, indicating a deep sleep. The sunlight peeking in through the curtained window gently caresses her face.
Shota is tired. His joints are stiff, and his back aches from sitting in the same position all night long. His eyes itch with tiredness, and his head keeps hitting his chest. He swallows the dryness in his mouth, trying to create the illusion that he is not as dehydrated as he thinks he is. And yet, he feels so.... normal, as if he would do this again in a heartbeat.
Shota takes a deep breath and stretches his arms up over his head. He winces at the pop! of both his elbows as they fully extend for the first time in about six hours. Looking down to make sure he isn't disturbing the sleeping girl, he slowly and carefully slips his legs out from under her head and walks into the bathroom.
The lights flicker when he turns them on, their fluorescent bulbs giving off an almost toxic-looking glow. The sink knobs squeak when he turns them, and he winces when the frigid water makes first contact with his hands. After splashing cold water on his face, he gives himself a quick once-over in the bathroom mirror.
Good lord, do I really look that bad?
Shota has never really cared that much about his appearance, but every once in a while he surprises even himself with how he looks. This is one of those mornings. The stubble that permanently lives on his face has grown into a small, shrubby beard. His cheekbones are hollow and his hair is the greasiest it's been in about two weeks. The top of his head is matted down, and the locks that hang in his face are frizzy and knotted. Dark rings circle around his sunken, bloodshot eyes.
No wonder she couldn't stop staring at me last night, I look horrible.
Shota reaches behind the mirror and grabs a small bottle of eye drops. He leans his head back and blinks his eyes as the fluid splashed into his corneas.
Nothing a shave and a shower can't fix, I guess.
He smirks, the image of his blond friend throwing a cold bucket of water on him flooding his thoughts.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The girl stirs in her sleep, the spot beneath her head warm and soft. She drops her head to the left, lazily turning away from the light streaming in through the window. The searing pain in her calf has shrunk to a dull ache, and for once she welcomes it. Pain is the only thing reminding her that everything that has happened is real. She really is lying in a soft bed, with pillows under her right leg, and bandages covering her leg and wrist. There really is sunlight falling through the window and landing on her face. She really is in an actual room, with actual walls and an actual ceiling. And last night, she got a real- well, almost real- meal, that left her feeling full and good afterwards. She shifts a little more, expecting to feel the man adjust himself under her, but feels nothing. She opens her eyes slightly, surprised to see that he isn't there. She cranes her neck and looks around the room.
The desk and chair are still in the corner, her ruined clothes from two nights ago still on top of them. Her two stuffed animals are still resting next to her, although the one on her left looks like it has been picked up and moved slightly. The blanket that rests over her body is strewn across her slightly as well. The door to the kitchen is slightly opened, but there is no light coming from the other side. Behind her, she can hear water running in the bathroom, tiny tendrils of steam slinking in underneath the crack in the door. She closes her eyes and rests her head back down on the pillow, as her tiredness claims her once again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Shota finishes towel-drying his hair, glad for once that he now has an excuse to not use the hairdryer his 'thoughtful' friends had given him as a Christmas present. He can't risk waking up his guest all for the sake of perfectly dried hair, can he? He walks back up to the sink and looks into the now-clouded mirror. The glass squeaks with condensation as he wipes his hand over it. Tilting his head left and right, he studies himself in the mirror.
His eyes are looking a little more refreshed now, thanks to the eye drops and the shower. Although his hair is wet, at least now it's clean. The same can be said for the fresh clothes that now cover his body. All he has left to do now is shave and brush his teeth, then maybe he can quickly sneak out to the store and grab some ingredients for-
"SSSSSHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!"
Shota's hands slam over his ears and the apartment rumbles as his friend's voice invades his thoughts. On the other side of the door, he can hear his guest squeaking in shock at the sheer volume of that voice, followed by a dull thud. Adrenaline courses through Shota's body as he dashes back into the bedroom. The girl is now lying on the floor, hands on either side of her head, her right wrist pressing at an awkward angle through all the layers of bandages on it. Her eyes are darting back and forth, and she is shaking. Quickly, Shota scoops her up, murmuring soothing words into her scalp as he places her back on the bed.
"It's okay. Unfortunately, that's one of my friends," his eyes roll at the word 'friends'. I'm going to open the door. You just stay here and be quiet, okay? You don't have to see him."
The girl nods her head affirmatively, grabbing a stuffed animal in her bandaged hand and the blanket in her left, pulling it up over her head. Shota makes sure her leg is still elevated on the pillow before turning around and opening the door to the kitchen-living room area.
I'm going to strangle that loudmouth...
He yanks open the front door and his greeted by a slender man dressed in black jeans, with a black embellished leather jacket, and an odd, clunky, metal device hanging around his neck. The man's stiff, bright yellow hair adds another two feet to his height.
"Goooood mornin', Sho!" the man bellows in his direction.
"Present Mic," Shota grumbles, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, it's Saturday," the blond replies, seeming more peppy than usual. "I figured you needed someone to help drag your lazy self outta bed!"
Glancing up and down at the darker-haired man standing in the doorway, his grin widens just a little bit. "Seems like you don't need my help after all!"
"Yeah, I don't," Shota's words are sharp and curt. "I can take care of myself just fine. Why don't you go back home? Don't you have a set you need to prepare for, or-"
"I suppose I coooouuuuld go back to my plaaaaaaace," the blond drawls, "But I want to know what gives the notoriously sleepy hero, Eraserhead enough motivation to get out of bed on a Saturday!"
Shota can feel the blood drain from his face at this unspoken invitation the blond has offered to himself. "No, I just got out of bed to open the door."
"That's a lie, and you know it!" his friend retorts, shoving himself through the small opening in the door.
"No, really, Hizashi, you can't come in!"
"Oh, calm down, Shota! Is it a girl?"
The stunned look on Shota's face gives Hizashi enough of an opportunity to shove himself through the rest of the door and into the apartment. Shota grunts and glares as his friend struts around, all too confident in his success at getting in. He sighs and drags himself back into the kitchen, leaning on the counter and watching the other man walk around the room.
"So, uh, where is she?" Hizashi asks, glancing at Shota.
Shota's head snaps up, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Huh? What? Where is who? No one else is here."
"Uh huh, yeah," Hizashi smirks and walks past Shota, heading toward the bedroom door. Shota's heartbeat pounds in his ears, but he is able to keep his composure. He watches Hizashi's hand curl around the doorknob, turning it slightly. The look on the blond's face is excruciating to look at. "Is she still sleeping?" he asks, playfully.
"Hizashi, for the last time, there is no one here!" Shota tries to keep himself in check, but his voice gets louder with every word.
"Then you won't mind me opening this door, then," Hizashi taunts.
"No! You can't go in there!" Shota rushes to catch Hizashi, but it is too late. The blond has already finished turning the doorknob and is now standing in the door way. He is stock-still, with wide eyes and an open mouth. Shota winces as he walks up behind him, fearing what his friend might be looking at. He peers over the other's shoulder, taking in the view below.
The girl is still on the bed, although now she is sitting up. Her clear, unblinking eyes are glued to the new man's face, and her mouth is slightly open. The blanket rests around her waist, and the pillows that had been propping her leg up were now strewn about the floor.
"... Shota?" Hizashi's voice is barely a whisper. "There... um... Why is there a child in your bed?"
Shota lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes and leaning against the door frame. "I found her on the streets a couple of weeks ago. She was essentially shoplifting food, but there was something odd about the way she was doing it. I kept close tabs on her for a while, before finally stepping in. After that, I found her in an alleyway, cold and hungry, and brought her back here."
"Uh huh, yeah... But why... why the bandages?"
"She jumped out of the window."
"Okay, but that still doesn't explain something," Hizashi turns to face Shota, his eyes never leaving the girl on the bed. "How did she disappear?"
Shota's brow furrows as he looks back to the girl. What does he mean 'disappear'? She's still sitting right in front of hi- oh. With a snap, Shota's eyes widen and begin to glow red. His hair floats up around him, the ends still dripping. The girl flinches, arms coming up to cover her face.
"What- How- Who" Hizashi frantically babbles as he points in all directions, head darting back and forth between the girl and Shota.
"I'm not sure what it's called, but she has some type of hallucination quirk," Shota explains, rubbing his eyes as his hair falls back onto his shoulders. "She can make people see, hear, feel, touch, taste, or smell things that aren't actually there. To put it simply, she messes with your mind, but it drains a lot of energy out of her. That's how she's been able to get food for herself."
"Huh... Hallucination..." Hizashi is still in a daze mumbling to himself as he tries to wrap his mind around everything that just happened. The girl looks timidly from Hizashi to Shota, and Shota's gaze falls. She looks more scared than ever now, and tears are building in her eyes. Shota nudges Hizashi out of the way and gently pads over to the bed. He kneels in front of the girl and gently brushes her bangs out of her eyes. "As far as I know, she doesn't speak, but she does make noise. She's also very weak, so I assume it will be a while before her bones have healed." He does not look away from her face as he speaks. The girl's stomach rumbles. "I was also just about to go get some more food for her." Shota mumbles, his eyes darkening.
"... Do... Do you think Recovery Girl could help her out a bit?" Hizashi's voice has gained back a hair of its deafening volume.
Shota's head snaps back up to look at the blond man still standing in the doorway. His glare is sharp enough to cut a large block of steel in half.
"You can never tell anyone about this," his voice is as sharp and cold as his glare. "If anyone finds out, they could hurt her even more."
"Sho, Recovery Girl could heal her injuries. I'm sure you want her to get better as soon as possible." The blond man blanches and takes a step backwards into the kitchen.
"Yes," Shota grits his teeth, "I do. However, the old lady will ask too many questions, all of which no one will have the answer to. We will not know if she is allergic to anything, or if she has any other medical problems. They will end up having to do a full-on check-up, and I'm not even sure if she can understand enough basic language to be told what's going on."
The blond's hand shoots up and rests behind his neck as he looks away sheepishly. Shota has always been the voice of reason and rationality, and what he was saying, well, it just makes sense.
"Think about it, Hizashi," Shota continues. "If she gets too scared, there's really no telling how she'll react. She could use her quirk, and, without knowing who she hit, could essentially destroy an entire section of the hospital."
"Yeah, you're right." Hizashi sighs out of his mouth. "Still, you could ask Recovery Girl to come over here."
Shota walks over to Hizashi and puts his hands on both his shoulders. He stares deep into the voice hero's emerald green eyes. "Hizashi," his voice is deadly serious. "I need you to promise me that you won't tell anyone, not Recovery Girl, not Nezu, not anyone."
"Yeah, okay," Hizashi mumbles.
Shota grips Hizashi's shoulders even tighter. His eyes narrow. "And especially not Midnight."
"Got it."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Do you promise?"
Hizashi lets out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Sho, I promise. Now do you need someone to buy you groceries or not? You do have a kid to look after now."