The next couple of days passed by normally, although the preparation for the school festival placed an extra element of both stress and excitement on the students. Eri was still being monitored in the hospital, but she could go out and explore if she was accompanied by Shota, although Lemillion - Mirio Togata - was often with them, taking on even more of a dad-like role than the man who was supposed to be her caretaker.
But at the end of the day, she slept at the hospital, watched over by nurses. Shota kept his phone on at all times in the case that he wasn't with her and they needed him, but the likelihood of her quirk going berserk and her losing control of it was not very likely at the moment.
Shota and Sumire had developed a relationship of teasing each other and bickering playfully, full of smirks and toothy grins of pride and ending with laughter. Eri found it amusing and fun, and her caretaker hardly visited her without the silver-haired woman's company or voice on the phone. She knew there was no bitterness or hatred between them, and this was all fun and games and how these two people showed that they really cared for each other. It also showed how close they were becoming.
Whenever the disgruntled teacher had to complete some paperwork for her, he would put a sticky-note on top that read "for the babysitter," knowing it would strike a nerve with her. Alternatively, whenever she would receive such paperwork, she would text him "asshole" to let him know that she got his papers as well as the friendly note.
Despite the banter, she would bring him leftovers when she cooked, noticing that when she didn't, he would always get take-out. According to her, that was no way to eat. Take-out was great some of the time, but not all of the time.
Yet, her food become something the man looked forward to and hoped to find sitting outside his door. He had no right to her cooking, yet in her kindness she would offer him some of the meals she made without saying a word.
She was the weirdest friend he had, but a friend nonetheless. He cared about her just as much as she cared about him, if not more, but he didn't know how to show it but in relentlessly teasing her and seeking to get a rise out of her. He often quietly cursed himself for dealing with his compassion and, quite frankly, "crush" on her in such a childish and pathetic way.
But he'd be there if she needed him, and she was very confident in that.
Sumire went to bed thirty minutes earlier than normal, eager to get extra sleep before the last rush of the school festival, knowing that the students and teachers would be flooding her with documents, fees, and propositions the last day of preparation before the festival would take place. She hated the last-minute things, but they needed to get done so that U.A. would be safe and the school festival would not face any legal or political issues, which was quite common with such a revered school.
She fell asleep quickly and easily, Echo resting at her side. Their gentle breathing was the only thing that could be heard in the dark room as the night hours ticked on. Rain began to trickle down her window, but it wasn't enough to wake her.
Then the lighting began, flashing far enough in the distance that the thunder was soft and rolling, but the light flashed through her blinds, casting sharp shadows across her wall and startling the sensitive cat awake.
As the storm inched closer, the thunder grew louder, more booming and crisper than the low, gentle rolls of the early developments. Matching its volume, Echo shrunk into a corner and arched her back, her black fur standing on end as she anxiously watched over her human. A deep growl emerged from her throat, but not loud enough to wake the girl.
In the same instant, lightning flashed, and thunder clapped as though it was in the middle of the room with them, startling Sumire to consciousness.
But something forced her down, keeping her from sitting up. There was unbearable pressure on and around her neck, like hands clenched on her throat, keeping her from sucking in a breath. She tried to cry out for help and grasp onto whatever was suffocating her, but she couldn't even release a gasp as she choked on her saliva.
She tried to utilize her quirk, but it didn't free her. Instead, she saw the terrifying black mass looming over her, its vaporous tendrils encompassing her skin as solid black hands clutched her neck. Every time she tried to grab them, her hands slipped through the darkness.
The incomparable red orbs glared deep beneath her skin, extracting her soul from her cold, pale skin. She couldn't breathe. She was being strangled by a darkness she couldn't understand, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Echo yowled and leapt for the demonic entity. As soon as she did, the plasma vanished. She sunk through the wall into the next room, looking for the only help she knew she could get. Silent tears dripped from her scared gray eyes as she looked around. The room was dark, but there was a dim light peeking through the cracks of the door to the bedroom.
'Shota...' his name pounded in her head. 'Shota, I need you...'
She floated through the door, suffocating every second she slipped to the other side using Phantom. She nearly collapsed when she revealed herself in the man's bedroom, holding her neck where she still felt the ghost-like fingers pressing into her flesh.
Shota was sitting on one side of his bed with a book in in his hands, his tousled dark hair messily tied away from his face and the scruff on his face freshly trimmed; sort of. He set it down on the nightstand beside him when he saw the horrified look in the woman's eyes. He looked at her quizzically, but from a place of genuine concern as he slowly slid off the mattress and stood.
"Shota..." She whimpered, her voice hoarse from the attack.
He knew that this was not the time to be teasing the girl as he watched her crumple in terror after sneaking into his bedroom, nearly half-naked and braless in her sleepwear. But he was trying not to pay attention to that.
She dropped her hand from her throat, revealing bruises that were already becoming blue in the shape of two hands.
The man's usually dull eyes widened. "Sumire, what happened?" He breathed, barely stringing syllables together.
"The... thing..." She coughed. "The darkness... It came after me again... and..."
He felt the urge to hold her and run his fingers through her silver hair, rubbing the back of her skull to soothe her and to just keep her there until she was okay. But he refrained.
Instead, he went to his drawers and tried to keep her mind off it, trying to instill the confidence in her that she was now safe with him. "Do you want a t-shirt again or a sweatshirt this time?" He asked, not daring to look at her.
Reminded, once again, that she was not in proper clothing, she folded her arms over her chest and she felt heat rise to her cheeks. She rubbed her legs together shyly and was overcome with embarrassment. "Sorry... again..." She muttered. "A t-shirt is fine."
He tossed a black t-shirt to her and didn't look at her again until she had it on. He could tell that she was blushing. He thought 'she's cute,' but he knew it wasn't the time to be thinking such things beyond keeping her safe.
He sighed and sat on the edge of the mattress, patting the empty space beside him for the woman to sit down. "Why do you think it came after you again?"
"Because I'm weak and it now has the opportunity to kill me." She answered immediately.
"I won't let that happen." He stated confidently.
Overwhelmed by the feelings of exhaustion and the comfort of Shota's presence, Sumire dropped her head on his broad shoulder. She breathed in his scent, reminding herself that she could take a breath, as she allowed herself to be consoled. At this point the lightning and thunder were distant, rolling and soothing along with the rain that softly hit the window.
A chuckle came from the man as he commented with a hint of sarcasm, "Do you need a hero now?"
"Shut up." She huffed quietly.
"You don't have to say it out loud. I'll be your hero." If the girl didn't know him better, she'd be disturbed by his pleased smile in the current situation. But it was him and she knew he'd never do anything to hurt her.
"Go ahead, fill your own ego." She rolled her charcoal eyes, then took another deep breath and gently squeezed the arm she was leaning on. "Thank you, Shota."
He gave a hum of acknowledgement, but when he looked down at the woman, her eyelids were blinking slowly, signaling she was about to fall asleep. So, he gently lifted her hand from his arm and raised her head, earning a sleepy look of confusion from her. "Are you ready to try to go to bed?" He stood, holding onto her wrist. It was so hard for him to look at her neck. The bruises were signs of an enemy he didn't know how to fight or how to protect her from. The only thing he could do was be with her, but that could only go so far appropriately.
She looked away from him for a moment and bit her lower lip nervously, then flicked her irises back to him and nodded.
He sighed and let go of her. He grabbed a pillow and headed to the door, but Sumire reached out a hand and asked with a soft, raspy voice, "Where are you going?"
"To sleep on the couch. You can stay here."
She sat back and looked down, but she was scared. She felt anxious and didn't know how to bring herself to do what was needed to feel safe. "Shota..." She met his bored-looking eyes with her wide, fearful ones. "Please, stay."
An expression of shock crossed his face, then he coughed, unsure how to respond to her request. But she needed a hero; she needed him, so how could he say no?
He crawled back onto the bed on the side that she wasn't on, and as he was about to turn around to sit beside her, he found himself extremely close to the woman's face, hanging just centimeters in front of her, their noses nearly touching. He stayed there for a moment, his hot, mint-smelling breath hovering just over her lips.
It was merely a couple seconds, but it felt like an eternal moment where time stopped and the world around the two of them faded.
Shota suddenly pulled away and laid down, helping her feel comfortable enough to lay down beside him. Yet, he commented, "This is not the first time we've slept together." which made falling asleep sharing a bed with him significantly less easy.
Her heavy, irritable sigh signaled her annoyance and that he should stop talking. He cursed himself for acting so pathetic in the situation he was in. She was relying on him for comfort and safety, but he couldn't say or do anything right.
He turned on his side and looked at the unsettled girl. "Sorry." He whispered and reached out, pinching a few strands of her silky hair between his fingers. "I'm just trying to help."
"I know." She said and dropped her head to the pillow. "All this... is just a lot."
He hummed, acknowledging her.
"But you do suck at communicating."
"Gee, thanks."
She turned towards him and gave a sleepy smile. "I still appreciate you. I know this isn't exactly... convenient."
"Don't worry about it." He rolled over, hiding his flushed face, trying not to think of the half-naked and vulnerable girl laying inches from him.
Only a few minutes later, Shota felt a weight on his back. He couldn't fall asleep over the fluttering sensation in his stomach, so he turned his head slightly to see Sumire resting her forehead against the space between his shoulder-blades, pressing her hands against his back. She had already drifted back to sleep, completely innocent and trusting in him.
Helping her and comforting her was rewarding to him; it made him happy, but he didn't want her to be in pain or be forced into a position to where she needed to rely on him.
But for the moment, seeing her peacefully fall asleep beside him and smile at him despite being attacked was enough for him. He felt relieved that he seemed to be the person she went to in her time of need and knew that it came from a place of knowing he truly cared for her, and he was confident that she cared for him.
He told himself that after this event, he would no longer run from her and how he knew he felt towards her. It was pointless to pretend like she was just a friend, his neighbor, or a woman he worked with.
Orso he thought at three-thirty in the morning.