#v.now

Clawed hands were shoved into the nomu’s pockets, head tilted downward and multicoloured eyes staring at his feet. Long golden locks were like a veil covering his face, a hand moving to scratch the metallic implants in his neck. He had been remembering more, lately—did the master know? What would happen if he did know? The more Himei remembered, the more he was able to think and have morals. The more he would be useless to the League of Villains—especially if he decided to protect the enemy because he was slowly remembering who he was.

Eyes flickered up as he raised his gaze to look at the man before him, brow raising slowly, voice raspy and hoarse.

When his body was taken after death to protect a friend. When he was essentially a blood thirsty monster—a tool of destruction. Something that didn’t speak out of turn. Something that always obeyed.

Still—he would obey. It was ingrained in his system that his body would just listen to commands. His imperfections started to stem from when his memories would resurface. He only had a few now—and still, seeing or thinking about Eraserhead made his head pound. Hiding it was a little easier, now, atleast.

The nomu sat there, quietly. Being alone caused his brain to scratch and focus on things he remembered in hopes to uncover more. Multicoloured eyes closed briefly before he heard footsteps, opening them and glancing over to the source to see one of his ‘masters’ (Tomura and All For One were the only two he called that—)

Elbows resting on his knees, the nomu stared up at him, a brow raised curiously, though he didn’t bother saying anything.

“....?”

There was a confused look on Himei’s face when the bag was given to him, his head tilting slightly in confusion as he moved his glasses to the top of his head. He stared at it in his hand before setting it on the table and slowly taking everything out of the bag.

First, the shirt. He felt the fabric before taking out the chocolates. He liked sweets. He remembered that. He looked up at Toshinori, eyes watering. Did the nomu deserve this? Did a killing machine deserve Toshinori’s kindness?

He looked down, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Dunno.”

A brow raises at the other man’s words and Himei gave out a sigh, gently taking Dove’s wrist in his hand and moving the others hand from his face. He pushed his glasses up, multicoloured eyes glanced down at the much smaller man and he ran a hand through his own golden hair.

For an adult, this guy sure acted like a child, but Himei held his tongue.

“....It’s...hard....”

Himei brought a hand to his head—merely thinking about Eraserhead made his head throb. The more he remembered, the more he understood. The more he knew. Eraserhead was his friend. He knew that much. He didn’t know why, or how they became friends. He still knew nothing about their friendship. He just knew that they were close—they went to school together. Hizashi gave Shouta his hero name. He couldn’t just...kill him.