Burn the Stage Down - Part One
Spit was nearly flying out of your mouth as you belted out the lyrics you wrote in an hour one night, punch drunk and sitting on the balcony of the hotel room your band had miraculously been able to afford. You had come up with the words with a cigarette in your hand that served no other purpose other than to entertain you. You liked to watch as the smoke curled and licked at the cold night air.
It contrasted heavily with the sauna-like atmosphere of tonight’s gig. You almost couldn’t catch your breath as you screamed the encore’s chorus, the heat from the lights mixing with the scorching waves of body heat. You felt alive, and it burned you.
Then, as you barely opened your eyes, you scanned the crowd, a mix of jumping, singing, and thrashing. It was the same energy that all your best songs and shows had. It made you grip the mic stand harder, pressing it up against you in just the right way to show off your figure, making you feel even more alive.
It felt so great, and the cheers you received egged you on so much that you ad libbed a laugh into the song that your manager had decided to axe from the studio version. But, God, everyone in the audience, how they wished your devilish laugh was on the official track.
One boy in particular stood out. Your eyes were squinted from putting your all into the lyrics, but you saw him. Standing there slack jawed, immobile, entranced. You made brief eye contact, and you swore a feverish blush ripped across his cheeks. This caused you to laugh once more, and you saw him jump ever so slightly in the middle of the sea of dancing people. To top it off, you leaned your body weight to one side lazily and extended one arm slowly, rising up with the increasing tempo of guitar and drums and bass. Your hand formed an elegant impression of a gun, and you fired it at the boy with a bang. He swore you stole his breath from his lungs in that moment.
He was just too damn cute, and it made you jump around onstage, dragging the abused mic stand everywhere you went. The electricity in the room skyrocketed. You turned your back to the crowd and fist bumped your guitarist, something you two did at every concert. Lastly, you pivoted quickly and let the last note fly.
For the second time, your eyes met the lone boy’s. This time his face was lit up in a crooked grin, and his split-colored hair was flickering across his eyes. He seemed to be both glowing and glittering, frozen in your sights but still in beautiful motion. You remember getting the feeling that this was a rare sighting. You saw a boy completely free.
The lights went out as you rolled your shoulders, holding the microphone out, suspending it over the mosh pit, your signature ending.
“Ayo, thank each and every one of you stars for coming to see our show tonight,” you said into the pitch black room. You could hear the shouts demanding more, but that was it for tonight. So, instead, you gave them the only last excitement you knew how to give. Your boot slammed into the stage, and light flickered out and above the crowd like stars connected by lightning. It fizzed and snapped as you added, “Have a stellar existence. We are Flash Riff, and we thank you! Goodnight!”
Illuminated by your dying quirk’s light. There. In the back. A spikey-haired silhouette. Piercing eyes and an evil grin. You couldn’t breathe.
There was a fraction of a second of a pause. The lights didn’t go on. The next fraction of a second. Still a void of fear. You felt your bandmate touch your arm. “Y/n, we have to get off the stage, or they’ll demand more, y’know? You know how it is.”
The only thing you could choke out was, “We need to run.”
Blue flames as bright as the sky ripped across the exit doorway, and the man in charge of the explosive act chuckled. This was not the type of laugh you had fun with on stage. This was a rumbling warning shot.
He spoke. “Long time no see. It only took three burned ex’s corpses to track you down. Oh, and a tour poster.”
Before you could react, the lone boy in the audience commanded with an authoritative tone. “Everyone, step back.”
There were fearful voices, and your fans nearly tripped over themselves as they created a parted sea. Three people were aligned along an invisible string, perfectly spaced apart. You, the boy, and Dabi.
Voices in the crowd. “That’s Todoroki!” “His hero name’s Shoto, dumbass!” “Endeavor’s son!” “He goes to concerts?” “Dabi! We’re dead!” “The League of Villains!”
Of course, you had recently been on tour in the United States, so you had missed the U.A. Sports Festival and all the events revolving around the U.A. students. You had heard of big things shaking up Japan, but touring was busy for you.
Dabi raised a hand with his palm out. “Ah, Todoroki Shoto. You, step aside. We’ve already met before. This reunion isn’t for you and I. I’m still more than willing to burn you to a crisp if you want to fight, though. That sure would catch your dear old dad’s attention.”
His skin emitted a subtle blue glow that didn’t escape your attention. “Dabi, no” you screamed.
A roar of heat came for you, and you thought you were going to die. A wall of ice appeared to shield you. Jesus, you thought, maybe God does exist. Or at least a guardian angel.
Fire was split by the ice, and it singed the tops of heads in the room. It began to eat away at the glacier separating you, Todoroki, and Dabi. People ran, breaking for the back exits.
“Some of you, through the side doors. Others, backstage,” you shouted into the mic, finally regaining some control over yourself.
As if cutting through the screams physically, Dabi sidestepped around the remnants of Todoroki’s barrier. “You’re but a cub,” he scoffed at the boy, launching another attack.
The U.A. student countered with a blast of ice, but when that started to evaporate, he glanced around, checking that no one was directly next to him, and he let rip orange flames from his left. The surprise shocked you backward. You fell next to your petrified bandmate, your friend, and you found enough of a voice to urge him to run. He looked at you, hesitating, but you shoved his leg from the ground with ferocity in your eyes. “I’ll be right there,” you told him. He ran.
Your legs shook violently. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You were muttering to yourself. “What the fuck?”
Todoroki’s flames didn’t quite match up to Dabi’s, and you thought, I have to try. I have to try and help him.
With one last burst of courage, you threw out your fingers and let your quick sail toward Dabi in an attempt to blind him. A lick of light grazed his cheek, and his grin widened. “Bad move, kitten.”
Todoroki threw himself in front of the vortex of blue that rendered all your instruments to melted lumps and ash. A cold arm wrapped around you from before you and pressed you against his strong back. “It’ll be okay.” His voice was calm, quiet. Although absurd to find something humorous in a situation like this, you almost laughed at how this boy with wild looks sounded, dare you say, just about monotonous.
“It’ll be okay.” This time, his voice carried more force, more emotion.
The mix of chill and heat was beginning to overwhelm you. You could tell the hero protecting you was concerned. His figure was rigid, and you saw fractals of ice trail across his clothed shoulder blades.
“Y/n, kitten, you know what I want. You don’t want him to die, too, right?”
It was your turn yet again to freeze. You recognized that tone, even if you couldn’t see him. He was closer to you and Todoroki than before. It was do or die, now.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s trying to manipulate you.”
You ignored the hero boy. Gripping the back of his shirt tightly, you shut your eyes. Your throat burned as you steeled yourself.
Todoroki, although strained from using his right heavily, knew he could get out of this situation with you safely if he just had a second more to think, but you had no clue what was running through his mind, and you tore that second away from him.
“Okay, Dabi, okay! Fine! Stop it. I’ll come out.”
“No,” Todoroki yelled as you shrugged off his grasp and ducked under the quirk he was unleashing. You tumbled to your knees, further tearing your fishnets, and you looked up at your ex.
Looking up through your lashes, you breathed, “Please, please, don’t kill him. Use me instead, baby.”
The last thing you heard before a boot slammed into you was, “Good, love, next time you’ll lick this boot.”
