𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃,
𝚂𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙳-𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆...
The man stood with his back to the counter, idly finishing some busy work. The sound of someone's knuckles rapping against the wooden desk made him jump. He spun around to see who had startled him. He put on a smile.
"Hello, how may I help you?" The man asked politely, approaching the counter. Detective Tsukauchi shows the man his badge.
"I'm Detective Tsukauchi and I'm looking for a missing boy," He told the man with a serious expression and tone. "We have reason to believe one of your patrons has direct ties to him."
"Oh, that's terrible," The man muttered in worry. "I've only had two people book a room this morning, and one of them was alone."
"The other person wouldn't happen to match this sketch would they?" Detective Tsukauchi unfolded a piece of paper from his coat and placed it on the counter. Detective Tsukauchi examined the police sketch carefully.
Detective Tsukauchi had a feeling they were close. The police had tracked the blue pick-up truck to that motel. If it turned out to be a dead-end, he was not sure where else a new lead could turn up.
"Yes, it was," The man said, somewhat confused. "She was with her teenage son."
"Son?" Detective Tsukauchi clarified. "What did he look like?" The detective hoped this was another symbol in the pattern he was discovering.
"Oh, I'm not sure," He admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "But they were arguing, and he sounded very angry." This information gave Detective Tsukauchi just a spark of hope. "They rented room eight. I don't think they're here right now, though."
"Can we take a look around anyway?"
...
Your eyes scanned the streets twice as fast you could jog down them. Given your experience in finding people who do not want to be found, you knew tracking him down on foot would be far easier than by car. The sound of cars driving past filled your ears and the buildings all blurred together.
As you frantically turned a corner, your eyes fell upon the exterior of downtown shops, a sidewalk, and someone sitting on the curb by a bus stop. You would not have given that individual a second thought if it was not for the familiar sweatshirt they were wearing. After all, it was yours.
You slowly approached the hunched-over figure. With an internal sigh, you carefully sat down beside Bakugo. You silently sat and watched the cars drive past. Something about that afternoon felt quiet, almost calm. You let out the breath you realized you were holding. You folded your hands in your lap.
"I'm sorry," You mumbled. You could easily remember how much of a pain it was for you to choke those words out in the past. Apologizing means you acknowledged that you did something wrong. And your past self would never let you give that up without a fight.
Now, it felt different. Those two words were easy, practically natural. They slipped past your lips like it was nothing. You waited, not for Bakugo to apologize or even to forgive you, but to decide what to say next.
"I care about what happens to you," You spoke softly and with precision, though you were not sure where your sentence was taking you. "I know we met just a few days ago, but I care a lot." Bakugo turned his head to you. Your expression was one he had not seen on you before. It was not hostile, cold, or tense. It was not mi mischievous, focused, or frantic. You looked sad.
"I'm... sorry too," Bakugo said, his tone matching yours. "But why do you care?" You supposed this was inevitable. He asked you this on day one, after all.
"I care about you because I was you," You sighed. "I was a teen with an attitude and a problem with authority. I was brash, loud, and I didn't give a shit about what others thought about me." You swallowed harshly in a vain attempt to fight the truth. "I even went to UA too."
"What?" Bakugo nearly whispered in shock. He was nearly speechless. How could a hero in training end up straying so far from the light? An even scarier thought occurred to him. If it happened to you, could it happen to him as well?
"Yeah." Bakugo could read your expression. It told him the reason you never became a hero was that of trauma. Your eyes glazed over in a way he had never witnessed before. You were not recalling fond memories of your youth. You were revisiting horrible, gut-wrenching trauma.
"It was almost graduation," You struggled to bring yourself to speak. "It was my first time on the field without a pro with me. It was supposed to just be a drug deal, I had no idea there was some psychotic villain waiting for me." You took a deep breath, memories of that night flooding back to you. You knew Bakugo deserved an explanation, even if it was beyond difficult to provide.
"He beat me half to death in a cold dark warehouse in the middle of nowhere," You choked out bitterly. "I almost died that night--I should have died that night." You looked down at your hands, awkwardly twitching them. "And I guess, in a sense I did." Your throat felt like barbed wire was wrapped tightly around it. Bakugo looked away, feeling utterly guilt for calling you the things he did.
"When I crawled out of hell to find that everyone assumed I was missing or dead I guess part of me thought it would be better if it stayed that way," You confessed, feeling tears sting your eyelids. "I didn't leave anyone grieving. My teachers hated me, I pushed away everyone who could've been my friends, and my family... " You brushed the tear away, trying to push it back down. It had been years since the last time you cried.
"Point is, I realized that day the heroes shouldn't be called that," You confessed. "You wonder why there are so many villains and criminals, but your heroes--" The term unable to leave your lips without venom falling with it, "fail to acknowledge why people turn to a life of crime. It's not because we just want to watch the world burn, it's because we have nowhere else to go." You took another deep breath. "That, or you finish the job yourself."
Bakugo was the first person to ever hear that story. He was the first person ever since your disappearance to have gained your trust. You trusted Bakugo. It felt nice to trust someone.
"By the I realize it was a mistake, it was too late," You went on, finding no good reason to keep your past hidden any longer. "Most people only keep doing bad things because they're in too deep." You looked at the boy sitting next to you, "You can't stop a problem like this by beating it out of someone, that only makes things worse. If you want to be a hero--a real one, you'll take a long hard look at the systems heroes have set up."
You looked at your feet, a strange weight felt like it was lifted from your shoulders. You took a moment to reflect on your life. If you could have a conversation with a younger version of yourself, it would be very similar to the one you were having with Bakugo.
"This world is going to try to burn every last good thing out of you," You told Bakugo, "and you can't let it get away with that. Ya hear me?"
"I won't," Bakugo promised, looking you in the eye. "I'll be the best hero, so no one has to go through what you did ever again!" Bakugo stood up, a real passion shining through.
You chuckled. He sounded angry when he spoke, but you could see a fire in his eyes. You never understood what your old teachers were on about when they would say things like that. Now, you knew what they meant. He was going to keep his promise. He was going to be the best. You had no doubt about that.
𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚄𝙴𝙳...