"I wouldn't dismiss it so easily, Kyoka," a masculine voice said from behind, causing Jirou to scream—a foreign and decidedly unwanted sound. She turned around and found her stalker—Tenya Iida—and released an angry groan.

"You almost gave me a heart attack!" she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Should I call an ambulance?" he said, slight concern leaking through his voice.

"Figure of speech."

"That's pretty morbid—not to mention inappropriate for a funeral."

"I'm not at this funeral by choice. I didn't give a fuck about Mineta or Nezu. I'm only because Momo wanted to come."

"That's a really cute gesture, but I didn't ask about all that," Tenya dismissed, waving his hand around. Kyoka raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, she reached into her purse and pulled out another cigarette, determined to light it up and drown out the world around her. "You're going to get lung cancer if you keep smoking, especially with the curse active."

"I don't remember asking for your opinion," she quipped back, rolling her eyes and inhaling the smoke. With a steady breath, she added, "The curse isn't real either."

"Just because you don't believe in something doesn't make it any less real, Jirou," Tenya replied calmly. "It doesn't make Nezu and Mineta any less dead, it doesn't make you—or anyone else in our class—any safer."

"Why the fuck are you here?" she asked, her patience wearing thin. "It's not like you're doing anything useful."

"I'm just the male class representative, what do you expect me to do? Stop the curse?" he bit back sarcastically, placing his hands on his temples. "It'd be disrespectful not to show up for my classmate's funeral, and I'm only checking on you to make sure you didn't sneak off and die. If we're being honest, I thought you'd be the first one to off yourself."

"That's a very Bakugou-like thing to say," she scoffed, "but I'm very much alive and not going to kill myself. I don't want you babysitting me."

"Don't choke on your words," Tenya said, walking back towards the funeral, whose guest seemed to be thinning out by the second.

She watched his retreating for gradually get smaller before all bug disappearing in the misty cemetery. She mindlessly put her cigarette to her lips and went to inhale another puff, but found the stick had went out. "Stupid fucking Iida," she grumbled, fumbling around her purse for a lighter, "stupid fucking funeral." Her eyes lit up when her fingers grazed upon the smooth plastic and she pulled the lighter out, calming down when the small flame came to life. "There's no such thing as curses," she said to herself, breathing in,  "No such thing."

Before she could bring the lighter to meet her cigarette, it went out, the flame disappearing just as quickly as it appeared. Rolling her eyes, she fumbled with the lighter before it came back to life. Quickly lighting her cigarette and throwing the lighter as far as she could, she inhaled again, long and deep, letting the smoke run down her throat and fill her lungs. When she went to exhale, she found that she couldn't; the smoke would not leave her. It wrapped itself around her lungs, squeezing them and drying them out, producing very dry, very small coughs. Her throat constricted, tightened with each drying cough that left her body. The smoke filled her entire body and refused to let anything other than more smoke enter her. The air around her was there, wafting around her with a teasing feel on her skin, but did nothing to help her breathe; she couldn't breathe.

Before she realized it, Kyoka had dropped to her knees, clutching the wet grass and hoping, praying that she'd find air. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound would come out—just dry gasps that only she could hear. Her lungs burned from inside her chest and her throat for something—anything—but she wasn't able to help herself. She looked around and realized, for the first time, that she was alone. The only thing she could see were tombstones, and they seemed to stretch on for miles. Can't breathe. She needed help. Can't breathe. She was alone. Can't breathe. She was choking. Can't breathe.  She was dying.

How fucking ironic.

When she looked up, she noticed the way sunlight reflected off of Momo's windows—and suddenly she had a plan. Can't breathe. Using the last of her strength, she opened the car door and slid into the front seat, pressing her hand on the horn with as much force as she could muster. Can't breathe.

She didn't even feel it when her head hit the steering wheel.

x

The far off noise of someone's undoubtedly cheap car malfunctioning would've been more of annoying to Momo if she wasn't already annoyed by her Louboutin's appearance. With clenched teeth, she forcefully wiped a tear from her wide eyes and let out a harsh breath. After maybe two hours of wear to her principal's funeral, they were completely and utterly destroyed, leaving her to mourn barefoot. A sniffle left her nose for what could have been the four millionth time today and she blinked her tears away. This was the most ghetto situation she'd ever been put in, and it was easy to tell that Momo Yaoyorozu was pissed. She went from class heiress to that crying, barefoot girl in a matter of days. The wet squelching of the grass prompted her to look up, and she found them walking towards her—and she almost vomited in her mouth. "What do you want?" she asked, disgust dripping in her voice.

"Only way someone could have a nasty ass attitude at a funeral is if something crawled in their panties and died—is there somethin' ya wanna confess, Momo?" Ochako retorted, crossing her arms.

"And what happened to your shoes?" Izuku asked, genuinely concerned. "You just don't look to good, sis."

"That makes a few of us then," Momo responded, sniffling. “It’s a fucking funeral, I’m allowed to be upset, aren’t I?”

“We just wanted to see if you were okay,” Shouto said, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off on contact. “It’s what friends do.”

“Friends?” she scoffed, rising to her feet, “Why on Earth would you think that we’re friends, Todoroki?”

“Because all of our fantastic memories we have with each other?” he replied, feeling defensive.

“Like what?” she challenged. Shouto opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it after realizing that she might’ve had a point. They had never spent any time alone with each other—to his slight dismay because damn did she have killer legs— and the one time they hung out, someone died. Not saying that the someone didn’t deserve it—but it was a really bad way to end what could have been a really nice day. Still, that didn’t mean that Shouto was wrong , per se, but it did mean that he could be on his way to losing this argument—and losing anything didn’t sit well with him. He had to plan his next sentence out very carefully if he wanted this to work out in his favor.

“Like all of the memories we were going to create with each other!” was the best he could come up with. Solid reasoning, he supposed, and he was going to stand his ground it on. “Maybe if you just got that stick taken your of your ass and relaxed—”

“The last time I tried to relax with you, I ended up having to ride home in a police car! Do you know how humiliating that is?! You cursed us!”

“Hey!” Eijiro interjected, placing himself in between Momo and Shouto, “maybe we should all just calm down. We’re friends, right Momo?” The girl looked at him with something softer than anger in her eyes—which must’ve been a terribly difficult feat to accomplish—and nodded quickly. “Yeah! Remember, I said I’d take a bullet for you, even if you are a bitch sometimes. Aren’t callbacks fun!”

“You said you wouldn’t take one for Aoyama,” Ochako added, snickering. “But to be fair, I wouldn’t take one for him either. He’s really weird.”

“Maybe we should just sit here and remember good things, yeah?” Eijiro finished, sitting down on the wet grass, clearly not caring about the suit Bakugou picked out but you know, whatever.

"It’ll help us calm up!" Denki said, taking a seat next to him, a small smile on his face.

“You are exactly right, buddy.”

“As much as I’d love to sit here and play fucking campfire stories, someone’s cheap ass car horn is going off and I’m about to lose my fucking marbles,” Momo said, standing up and crossing her arms.

“That’s your cheap ass car,” Bakugou said, cocking an eyebrow up.

“Can’t be,” she said, rolling her eyes, “Jirou has my keys.” Her stomach dropped when she realized that her girlfriend had her keys and her horn was still going off. She squinted and looked towards the direction of her car, and though she couldn’t see through the fog, she started running. Pale feet kicking up mud and whatever creepy crawlies lie on the dirt floor, she took off as fast she could towards her parking space.

x

Seeing Kyoka Jirou slumped over in her car caused parts of Momo to hurt that she didn’t know still existed. She tapped the window of her car furiously, crying—screaming— begging for Jirou to please open the door, baby I’m here please, until her throat ran raw and she couldn’t hear herself anymore. The longer she stared at the window, the louder the horn seemed to get, and she found herself not looking at Jirou, but her own reflection. Wild eyes stared back at her, red rimmed and running, on a face that seemed to be melting with wild hair framing this picture of imperfection.The hours she put into herself were rendered meaningless in less than ten minutes.

x

“You do realize we’re going to a funeral, right?” Kyoka asked, slightly annoyed. Momo noticed her watching her for half an hour, but if she wasn’t going to complain then she wouldn’t ask her.

“It’s not like I forgot,” she said, applying highlighter to her nose.

“Then why are you doing all this?”

“Because,” she said, turning away from the mirror to look at her girlfriend, “you deserve to walk in with the most beautiful girl on the planet—and this the only chance I have on stunting on Rihanna.”

“I think you look perfect.”

“I know you are perfect.”

X

Narrowing her eyes, Momo clenched her hands into a fist. Before she registered what she was doing, she raised her arm and elbowed her window, shattering the glass in an instant. She chose to ignore the ‘Your door was probably open’ she heard in the background. Breathing harshly, desperately, she opened the car door from the inside and pulled Jirou out, not paying attention to the stinging pain in the arms. “I got you,” Momo said, pulling the girl close to her and brushing her hair out of her face, only then seeing a large gash on her forehead, still bleeding. The stillness in Jirou’s chest sent shivers down Momo’s spine, but she refused to let a single tear drop from her eyes. She’d spent the entire day crying—at this point she was over it. She turned around and yelled, “Someone call a fucking nine-one-one! She’s not breathing!”

“Got it!” she heard Denki call, and for the first time, she thanked God that he was close. “What’s their number?”

She sucked in a large gulp of air and straightened up, a tight frown forming on her face as she seem more people walking towards the gravesite. A cool, relaxing sensation washed over her body, and when she looked down, she noticed a small hand resting in her gloved one. A small, gentle smile pulled on Momo's lips as she looked at Kyoka Jirou, standing next to her, all half-lidded eyes and dark lipstick. She said something, probably encouraging, but Momo didn't catch it. Maybe she was too caught up in the way her lips moved—or the way her black dress held onto her small body—or just caught up in everything that was Kyoka Jirou, but she didn't catch the words she said. Still, she nodded and started following the dying train of people, leading to the gravesite.

x

It did not take long for Katsuki to discover that he was one of the many people who were less than enthusiastic about being at a funeral. His red eyes dashed back and forth around the cemetery, finding his classmates dressed in dark colors, their eyes downcast and faces solemn. For the first time, it seemed that everyone in his class—plus a few extras here and there—had enough common sense to know things were not okay, would not be okay for a very long time. It would've been a very obvious revelation to anyone with more than seven brain cells—but he knew better than to expect any more from his classmates. He didn't know what it was, but something just did not click in their heads—and because of it, they put everyone in danger. He released a heavy breath as he followed along what he swore to be the world's most disorganized line towards Principal Nezu's final resting place.

His girlfriend followed in the line silently, her pinky wrapped around his in what she deemed to be the most respectful amount of affection they could show in a cemetery—but fuck a cemetery, we didn't like the fat fuck anyway—in an effort to not make anyone feel any more uncomfortable than they already were. Ochako kept her bright eyes focused ahead of her, trying to figure out how much more time would pass before they could go home. Truthfully, she hadn't want to come at all, but Nezu was her principal and Mineta was her, well, not so much a friend...or an associate, really. If she had to describe their relationship, it'd be akin to that very weird cousin that showed up at the family reunion. She couldn't exactly tell him to stay out of her life—but if he did she would not mind at all. Attending this funeral was more of an obligation if anything.

A small smile formed on her face as the train of people closed in on their destination, marked by five rows of eight chairs and two caskets. It seemed normal until she closer, then she couldn't help the gasp that escaped from her mouth. In a matter of moments, she felt all eyes on her, watching her every move. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, threatening to explode, and she could not control her breathing. Katsuki quickly placed an arm around her and held her close to him, asking her something that she could not hear because all of the blood in her body was rushing to her organs too loudly for her to even process what was going on. Bright brown eyes seen everyone staring at her, but she could do nothing but lift a finger towards Mineta's casket. Finally, she gathered herself and spoke.

"What the hell?"

Her finger pointed to her classmate's casket, where she found his body upright in a sitting position. Mineta wore a sleek suit, with sunglasses covering his, hopefully closed, eyes. He was positioned toward the crowd, and it seemed as if he was still alive, looking at each and every one of them.

"Mineta asked for this," Denki said, strolling past her to take a seat in the front row, Shinsou hot on his heels. His voice was soft, the words ripping from his throat with a pain that nobody could relate to. Maybe's Mineta's parents, but nobody really cared enough for him to be hurt by any of this. "He wanted to sit up," he continued, a tear falling down his cheek, "so he could know how many hoes came to his funeral."

"Language, Kaminari!" Miss Midnight scolded, crossing her arms in disapproval.

"He'd be so happy to see all you hoes," he finished, finally sitting down. Miss Midnight opened her mouth to say something else about his language, but Shinsou placed a delicate hand on her shoulder—a sign to sit down and mind her business. Without a word, he took his place next to Denki, who said, "It's a shame Tooru couldn't make it. She was his favorite hoe."

"I'm right here," the aforementioned girl said, raising her hand.

"Sometimes, I still hear her voice," Denki said, placing a hand to his chest. "She's here in spirit."

On that note, Katsuki took the seat closest to him and sat his girlfriend down next to him, disappointed but not surprised at the lack of common sense his classmates possessed.

x

By the time Shouto arrived, the funeral had already started. He made it to the gravesite during the middle of a prayer, and felt that he had no choice but to stand behind the minister awkwardly, his head half-bowed and left hand holding his right wrist. He made sure not to cover his left wrist, as his watch cost more than his father's bail money and he needed to have it on display. When the minister stopped talking, he walked in front of him and in the space separating the caskets, only to catch and hold everyone's attention like the star he was born to be.

His mismatched eyes lit up when they found Izuku sitting in the middle of the crowd, and he strut over to him, a delicate smirk on his face. He flippantly waved off the person sitting in the seat next to Izuku, staring at them until they decided to move from that seat and find a new one. Then, he gingerly sat down, a satisfied smile on his face. As smoothly as possible, he whispered something in Izuku's ear to make the smaller boy blush, his freckles seemingly lighting up the room. Shouto couldn't help but notice how cute Izuku looked as he tried to pay attention—even if his suit was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen and whew, this baby needed to go shopping—his green eyes sparkling as he listened to his former-principal's friends speak about him.

Shouto was almost ashamed to admit it, but he could muster any energy to care about Nezu, or this funeral. The same went for Mineta. He chalked it up to be the new student, but there was nothing about these two people that he really cared for. Mineta seemed like a creep and Nezu was just bland. They just didn't have the range to impress him, and it showed. Honestly, the only reason why he came was because he knew he would be the best dressed here—and looking around, he seen that he was right. Nobody else could compare to his outfit, so there was no point in trying to compete.

Although, he couldn't help but look at Momo, who almost looked as good as him. She wore her hair down, with a small, black veil covering a small portion of her face. Her black dress clung to her body with enough subtly to be respectful, and flared out around her hips, adding to the illusion of fuller hips. Shouto had to admit to himself, she would have looked just as good as him, if it had not been for her Louboutins being absolutely filthy. He should have known that she would never be as well-dressed as him, though this was a very cute attempt. Smiling, he realized that's all he had to say about her—cute.

x

Denki sat through the funeral without saying another word, his eyes fixated on his friend, sitting up in the casket, wondering why it had to be him. There were so many other people in the world—so many other people in the classroom—people that didn't matter—and it had to be his friend that died first. Ojiro, Sato, that one weird guy who has too many fingers on one hand—all these other people who nobody gave a shit about—and his friend was the one to die. He felt his breath hitch and he coughed to cover it up, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he found himself staring at his friend, who stared back in the emptiest way possible. Denki's body shook with sniffles that he didn't release because he knew that his friend wasn't staring at him—he wasn't staring at anyone. If the mortician did their job right, his eyes were closed behind those thick ass sunglasses and he wouldn't get a chance to open them again. He felt Shinsou's hand wrap around his but didn't have the energy to hold back.

His friend was dead—and that was it. He let another single tear roll down his face—just one more cause anything else is for bitches—before putting his head in his hands, wiping it away. He looked down at his shoes, unsure of what to do next. He really didn't know if he was doing this whole funeral thing right—he'd never been to one, and he didn't think he ever wanted to go to one again. He didn't know if he was mourning correctly, either. Nobody else felt this way about Mineta—did that mean what he was feeling was wrong? He looked around and everyone in the crowd, seeing their bored faces, and heaved a heavy sigh that seemed to blow away everyone around him. He felt empty—like his insides had been stolen and he was nothing more than a hollow shell of what used to be.

Was this wrong?

He took another look at Mineta, and felt a small smile creep on his lips—couldn't say he didn't look dope as fuck sitting up like this.

x

After the bodies were placed in the ground and the crowd left to go about their day, Denki found himself still sitting at Mineta's grave, his head resting against the headstone. He'd toss a rose over the grave, but the wind blew it faster than he could catch it. Dried tear trails stained his face as he wrapped his arms around the headstone, refusing to let it go. He heard footsteps approach him a while ago, but he did nothing to stop them, figuring if he died, at least he was already in a cemetery. "So this is it, huh?" he asked, "This is the end?" He looked up to see Shinsou, who's only reason for being in attendance in the first place was because he knew Denki needed him.

"No," he said, "This is just the beginning."

"Am I doing this wrong?" Denki asked.

"Doing what wrong?"

"Being sad because Mineta died?"

"No," Shinsou said, sitting down next to him. "When my dad died, I wasn't like you. I didn't have any tears for him at all. No sniffles, no choking, nothing. I was sad, but I kept it on the inside. It's how I grieved." He wrapped an arm around him and continued, "You just have a lot more tears. There's nothing wrong with it. There's no wrong way to grieve."

The sound of wet grass being destroyed bought Denki's attention back to the world around him, and he found Ochako, Katsuki, Eijirou, Izuku and Shouto looking at him, their eyes concerned. Gently, Ochako crouched down, reaching out to touch him. Denki flinched hard enough to hit his wrist on Mineta's headstone, prompting a chuckle from Shouto, but said nothing, just watching the girl watch him. In a delicate voice, she asked, "Are you okay?"

His response was quick. "No."

"I—I—don't know what to say," she said, throwing her look back at the people she walked in with. "This is my worst fear."

"Not knowing what to do?" Katsuki asked, quirking an eyebrow up.

"Us ending up like this," she said, gesturing to the headstone.

"Mine is waking up one day to find out that you didn't," Katsuki said, looking down at her.

“Well, yeah, but it still wasn’t a bad day. It could've been a classmate we liked,” he answered, sliding further into his seat.

“I guess yesterday was alright,” Bakugou added, pulling a notebook out of his backpack. “Shit could’ve gone all the way left.”

“I think shit did go left,” Ochako said, rolling her eyes, “The curse actually started. Mineta actually died. Why am I the only one taking this seriously?” She wrapped her arms around herself, pouting slightly.

“Because, like, fuck Mineta?” Bakugou said, shrugging. “Nobody really gave half a shit about him except for Denki, and that's probably because he's a fucking idiot.” The blonde loooked around for a pen out of his backpack, rolling his eyes when he didn't find one. He huffed, looking towards his girlfriend, who sighed before giving him the one she held in her hand. "I think Denki was the one who said fuck him yesterday, Cheeks," Bakugou tacked on, shrugging.

"I said 'Death to the bitch'. Don't put words in my mouth," Denki said, walking in the classroom and taking his headphones out of his ears.

"Is your broke ass talking to me?" Bakugou said, raising an eyebrow.

"The only broke person in the room is your girlfriend," Denki said, rolling his eyes and popping his headphones back into his ears.

"You could've left me out of it," Ochako said, turning around in her seat to look at Denki.

"And your boyfriend could have kept my name out of his mouth. I guess we all have things we could've done. Shoulda, woulda, coulda," Denki finished, sliding into his seat with an expression that screamed 'You Tried It'. In her mind, Ochako thought she was going to try him again, just so that she could get the last word in, but when she paid attention to his face, Ochako's own softened. His eyes seemed darker than normal, and she noticed thin, fine lines forming through purple bags that sat just under his eyelids. She fixed her mouth to ask about him, but she found herself unable to speak after staring at him for a moment more.

"I don't think I've ever seen him this upset," she whispered to Kirishima and Bakugou, the former of which only shook his head in response. She gave a last glance at him before continuing, "It's unnatural seeing him so down."

Kirishima nodded, saying, "Yeah, I've been knowing him forever and he's never been this sad. It's super weird." The classroom door creaked open and Shinsuo slid in, his footsteps quiet against the tile floor. Still, as quiet as he was, he couldn't help but attract the attention of everyone else in the classroom.

"It's almost like he's a main character too," Izuku said, giving a knowing look at Todoroki, who made a confused face.

"Fuck are you talking about?" he asked back, shrugging.

"You know what I'm talking about," he insisted, rolling his eyes.

"Denki's just in a sour mood," Shinshuo explain, taking the attention away from the two in the back and directing it towards himself. "Min—what happened yesterday really hit him hard and he hasn't been right since."

"Acting bitchy isn't a healthy way to deal with it," Kirishima said, throwing an understanding look towards his oldest friend, "And you know that. You can talk to me about it if it's bothering you. Or not; there's a million ways to cope."

Denki looked up at him, his dark eyes only flickering for a second. With a soft sigh, he said, "I guess I never learned how."

"You've never felt like this?" Ochako interjected, "You've never lost someone?"

"No," Denki breathed, "I've never learned to cope with an actual death."

Kirishima opened his mouth to speak, but the bell inturrupted him before he could let a single word loose. Instead, he reached a hand out and grabbed Denki's shoulder, giving him a tight squeeze. "I know we're not as close as we used to be...but you can always talk to me. Man to man. I know what it's like to lose someone close to you and I'm here for you. Always." He gave one last reassuring look towards the blonde, who nodded his head in a numb, vague gesture. Heaving a soft sigh, the redhead went back to his seat and gathered his materials for class, watching the door for their teacher to burst in. She was late most days, but he thought the death one of one of her students—though he had no reason to assume this anyway. Instead, the next person to walk through the door was none other than Momo, her hair smoothed back into a glossy ponytail and eyes rearing heavy bags.

"Your eyes are dark enough to see through the bottomless pit that is my soul," Tokoyami said, lifting his own dark eyes to look at her.

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Todoroki said, furrowing his eyes together.

"Sometimes he just says a bunch of shit to sound fake deep," Izuku replied, rolling his eyes. "You get used to it."

"It means," Tokoyami huffed, slightly irritated, "you look like you haven't slept at all last night."

"I didn't," she confirmed, gliding into her seat in the front of the classroom, "I was having a really bad night 'cause of Mineta, so Jirou came over with the strap."

"Why would she try to rob you?" Mina asked, her pink eyebrow lifted, "I thought she loved you."

"And I thought you were a dumbass," Momo said, flipping her ponytail, "I guess we're both right."

"My dad was always strapped up," Izuku added thoughtfully.

"That's why you don't have a dad," Bakugou said with a snarky snicker.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't have a dad either," Todoroki said, slinging his arm around Izuku, "he used to beat me with the strap."

"You just keep oversharing, Shouto," Izuku said, propping an eyebrow up. "I think it's a personality defect or something. You autistic or something?"

"I'm not a Gary Stu," Todoroki replied.

"And none of you know what a strap is, either," Miss Midnight said, strolling into the classroom with Iida on her hip, disappointment heavy in her throat. "It's slang for a dildo."

"What's a dildo?" Denki asked, raising his hand—not bothering to wait to be called on. "It sounds like a type of bean."

"That's pinto, stupid," Mina said, giving him a strong glare. "A dildo is a kind of instrument with strings. Like a guitar."

"That's a banjo, dumbass," Sero said, laughing, "It's a kind of rodent with a really hard shell."

"That's a fucking armadillo," Bakugou said. "All of you guys are fucking stupid. A dido is a sex toy."

"I'm sorry we're late, class!" Iida said, bowing his head before everyone and effectively changing the subject, "my brother insisted that we ride to school with him today because Mineta's passing yesterday. It can be very dangerous and he doesn't want anything to happen to us when he's not around to protect and serve." Painting a smile on his face, he confidentally strolled to the middle of class and took his seat, quickly getting out his materials and scribbling down the date. Miss Midnight followed suit, grabbing a marker and writing down the date on the white board, along with her intended lesson plans for the day—Sex Education and the History of Lesbianism. She figured if her class didn't know what a dildo was—let alone a bean, banjo, or armadillo—they needed her help.

The classroom door creaking open grabbed the class's attention and Todoroki found himself staring at the principal, who entered the classroom as quietly as he could. Nezu's footsteps barely made a sound as he tipped in, almost silently stepping on the tile and creeping to the center of the room, carrying a deep blue briefcase by his side. When all eyes were on him, he began solemnly, "I have some really terrible news, class."

"Is it about Mineta? Because we all know what happened to Mineta," Todoroki said from his spot in the back of the classroom.

"It is. And I understand that everyone knows what happened to him—some of you guys were even there to see what happened. And I'm sorry you guys had to witness that. It's something nobody should ever have to witness—"

"—I've seen worse," Todoroki replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"You shouldn't have," he said, "The job of a principal is to make my school safe. I'm supposed to make my students safe. And under my watch, a student died. This curse has killed so many people, and I know it hurts—"

"—Not really," Sero said, "The only one really sad about this is Denki, nobody else really cares."

"I don't want anyone to think that this was their fault—"

"We don't," Ochako said, "we don't blame ourselves for anything that happened to him. We didn't tell him to tag along with us, we didn't tell him to run off by himself, and we didn't tell him to get himself killed. He did all that by himself."

"And likewise, I don't want anyone to view death as something to blame others for. Think of them as acts of nature." He bent down and reached into his briefcase, pulling a knife out. With a simple flick of his wrist, he dragged it across his throat, slitting it and spilling blood across the classroom. Momo found herself especially drenched in it, spewing from his life-emptying corpse. A scream ripped from her throat as the blood seeped through her clothes, touching her and sticking to her skin.

"Are we supposed to take notes on this, Miss Midnight?" Iida asked, wiping the blood off of his glasses with his shirt. "Because this is a really big moment in history and I'd like to be prepared if it shows up on a test."

"Don't you get it?" Momo screamed, "Our principal just killed himself!"

"And it'll be for nothing if I fail this class!" Iida screamed back.

"Is no one going to call for help?" Ochako screamed.

"What is there to help?" Izuku replied, thankful for his spot at the back of the classroom and away from the corpse steadily leaking blood. "Nezu's super dead. Ain't no help for him. We might as well get an early dismissal and go home. Try this shit again tomorrow."

"Nobody's going anywhere," Miss Midnight said, standing by the door. "Tsuyu," she said, pointing to a girl with large eyes and green, blood-stained, hair, "call the police."

"No can do," the girl replied, her eyes glued to her phone, "it'll ruin my Snapchat. I gotta get the whole thing or people are going to try and say Deku, Mina, or Tokoyami killed him."

"Why is it always us?" Mina asked, bunching her brows together.

"Because you're black," Tsuyu said, "And every time something happens, the police are going to try and blame the black guys."

"Miss Midnight?" Shinsuo said, raising his hand, "I called the police when Deku started talking."

"My name is Izuku but whatever," he said, huffing and lifting his legs to lay on the seat next to him, partially to avoid the blood making it's way to the back of the classroom. "Y'all are starting to get on my nerves with this Deku shit."

"Our principal is dead!" Momo screamed, her hands balling into fist.

"So is Mineta!" Denki yelled back, crossing his arms. "People die every fucking day in this class! It can be any one of us next! Or our families! Do we honestly give a shit anymore?"

"Yeah," Mina said, under her breath, "A bitch really doesn't want to die right now."

"That's too damn bad!" Denki said, rolling his eyes. "We're all going to die. One of us is already dead. Does it really matter who?"

"Uh, yeah?" Bakugou said, "It matters a lot. I'd die for Ochako and Kirishima, so it they better not be the dead one."

"Bro, you'd die for me?" Kirishima asked, a soft expression taking over his face.

"Yeah—Don't let it go to your head."

"I'd die for you first, bro," Kirishima said, a warm smile crossing his face. "You too, Ochako."

"Please don't," she said, lifting her own feet up off of the floor. "I appreciate the thought, though."

"I appreciate you," Kirishima said. "I think I'd die for everyone in this class—except for Aoyoma. You're a little weird, fam. And Shouji. And Sato. Basically everyone that isn't an important addition to the class. Everyone else, you're all really cool and I wouldn't mind taking a bullet for you." He turned his red eyes to the unusually quiet Momo, rocking herself shakily in her chair. "You too, Momo. Even if you're a bitch sometimes."

"Then perish," Todoroki said, though he couldn't help the warm feeling bubbling in his chest. It encompassed his entire body, filling him up starting from his heart and moving outward. He let out a little shake, though it did nothing to calm his nerves and steady himself. He felt his hetrochromatic eyes wander the room, and as he looked at his classmates, the warm feeling heated itself into something greater—almost boiling over. Oh shit, he thought, letting out a shaky breath. Does he...he couldn't possibly...

like

his classmates?

His eyes fixed themselves onto Izuku, who's own green eyes were fixed onto his phone, seemingly enjoying Tsuyu's live Snapchat show. He noticed the way his phone was reflected in those bright green eyes, sparkling and highlighting the freckles that dotted his cheeks. The small smile dancing on his lips replayed over in his mind, and he swore he heard his voice over the growing sounds of sirens.

"Duh," he said, against her skin, "it's the hottest month of the year." Of course he'd be listening—he was always listening. It surprised her sometimes—how closely he paid attention to what was going on. She should've expected it by now, ever since she's known him, he's been weirdly perceptive of anything and everything happening around them. Sometimes—Most of the time, he pretended that he didn't notice, but that didn't mean that he didn't catch everything going on. A hard bite on her ear sent her back to reality, and she found herself barely dressed in the backseat of his car, her boyfriend sweating on top of her. "You're thinking too loud," he said, rolling his eyes.

"You can hear what I'm thinkin' about?" she asked, a laugh on her lips.

"Damn near," he confirmed, "you always think loud as fuck when something weird happens."

"When was the last time something weird happened?"

"When Mineta went to Mount Lady's house."

"He didn't just go over there," Ochako said, shooting up and moving from underneath Bakugou, a puzzled look on her face.

"Went over, broke in, same difference. He was inside her house and it was really fucking weird," he defended, shooting her the same puzzled look. She furrowed her eyebrows, pushing them together with an intense frown on her face. "And you were thinking really loudly about him the entire afternoon, especially when he showed up on the news."

"Because he's a creep!" she said, "Like I swear he should be arrested or something. Either he's gonna end up hurting someone—"

"Or someone's gonna hurt him."

"How do you know that?" Ochako asked, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes lightly.

"I know everything, angel face," he scoffed, "I'm a fucking genius."

"Oh really?"

He opened his mouth to say something else, but a very clean, silver car pulled into the parking space next to them—far too close to his liking. Releasing a hot breath, Bakugou said in a gravely whisper, "Fucking hell!" In an instant, he moved to the other side of the car, trying to peer into the car that pulled into the spot next to them, only deterred by the tint on the windows. "I bet it's fucking Deku in that car," he said, looking at Ochako with irritated eyes.

"You can't even see in it," she reasoned, peering into the car herself.

"But do you smell that, babe?" he said, taking a long whiff of the air around.

"It smells like sex in here."

"We smell like sex," he corrected, "but they—" he pointed at the car next to them, "smell like bitch. And the only one who smells like bitch is Deku, and that's because he is a bitch." He sniffed the air once more and then nodded his head, confirming his own suspicion. Ochako rolled her eyes and began redressing herself, seeing that they were not going to finish what (s)he? started—not yet, anyway.

Fixing her swim suit, she pulled her sunglasses down and stepped out of the car, staring at her boyfriend through the open door. "Mina and everyone are probably waitin' on us, anyway." She extended her hand and pulled him out of the car, forcing the door closed behind him.

"Holy fuck, you're strong."

"I was a heroine in a shonen series in another life," she said, off-handedly, laughing slightly.

"That's hot."

When she looked back to smile at her boyfriend, Ochako let out an unintended groan. Bakugou turned him head to see what she was groaning out, and moaned loudly too, saying, "I thought it was one bitch in the car, but it turns out there were two." Their eyes settled on Izuku and Shouto, leaving the out of the car, both shirtless and starting to sweat in their swim trunks.

"Why did she moan?" Shouto asked, following not too far behind them. "She didn't seem like a bitch when we met earlier."

"I hate it when he's right," she said.

"I'm always right." he interjected.

"Right about what?" Izuku said, his voice bright and happy.

"Don't trip," Bakugou said, a light smirk on his face, "Just know I'm alright right—and I can smell bitch a mile away."

x

Mina, Shouto soon discovered, was all curly, pink hair and bright smiles—and apparently so was her cousin, Mei. They both sat at a table inside the park, along with Momo, Denki, Mineta, and another classmate—this one with bright red hair styled in spikes. His first thought was to ask if he was black as well—race seemed to be the topic of discussion during class—but then he thought it was better to keep his thoughts to himself. Besides, he reasoned, he'd see if he was black after getting his hair wet anyway. His classmates, and the extra, were chattering among themselves, and he swore he saw a ghost of a smile when Momo—which was strange considering he thought she was gay, but whatever—turned her head to him.

"Check out what my cousin made for us in the lab!" Mina called, holding a black case in her hands. Ochako squinted and then dashed over, pulling Bakugou with her with what seemed to be enough force to rip his arm off—though it stayed in its' socket. What a shame, Shouto thought, rolling his eyes. He kept his leisurely pace until he noticed Izuku kept up with Ochako—then he hurried along too.

"The lab?" he asked, popping down at the table.

"It's where I make my babies," the extra girl—Mei—piped, sunglasses barely hiding her bright golden eyes.

"We make ours in the back of Katsuki's car," Ochako said in a low voice, snickering.

"Well, me and Jirou can afford an actual bed," Momo said, looking down at Ochako with a disapproving glare.

"I don't think you two can be making any babies, sis," Kirishima added, shrugging his shoulders, "You two don't have all the right parts for that."

"Can I watch?" Mineta said, moving in closer to Momo, his eyes not directly looking at her red bikini but definitely not looking at her face, "As a science project?"

"That's fucking weird. You're fucking weird," Izuku said.

"Well then can I watch as porn?"

"That doesn't make it any less weird," Momo said, rolling her eyes.

"That isn't a no."

"If anyone says anything else about sex, I'm going home," Mei said, straightening herself up and crossing her eyes.

"Bitch bye," Mina said, waving her off, "You're such a fucking prude." With that, Mei walked off—not that anybody cared. Truthfully, nobody intended for her to come anyway, she just happened to show up with Mina at the last minute and had been quiet enough not to bother anyone. When she started speaking, Shouto knew that she wasn't going to last long enough to be a main character—but he hoped she wasn't going to be regulated to a one-and-done cameo appearance and never heard of again.

Anyway.

"Mei made these," Mina said, opening up the black case and revealing a set of eight watches—each pair a different color. "She whipped them up after hearing that Deku—"

"My name is Izuku," he inturrupted, an attitude heavy on his lips

"—Your name is whatever the fuck I say it is, Deku," Bakugou finished, staring down the green-haired boy with narrow eyes.

"—Activated the curse," Mina finished, narrowing her bright yellow eyes at them.

"I didn't even do anything!" Izuku said.

"You're the main character right?" Shouto said, his voice mocking, "Everything that happens from here on out is your fault."

"Y'all gone stop interrupting me," Mina said, looking dead at Shouto and Izuku. She held up her own wrist and pointed at the black band around it, and the face of the watch displayed wavelengths in a smooth, even pink. "The watches monitor your partner's heart rate, so you can keep track of who's alive. I'm partnered with Mei, so her heart rate is displayed on my screen. I can switch back and forth to tell time, but I have a phone so that's really not important. When the waves stop, it means your partner doesn't have a heartbeat anymore—and she programmed it to leave some sort of alert to let you know to get help."

Ochako peered into the box and pulled out the black band with a smooth, yellow line displayed on the face. As she wrapped it around her wrist, it started reflecting a calm wave, that picked up speed the more she looked at it. She reached her fingers out to touch the black and yellow screen, admiring its glossiness. "It's so pretty," she said, in almost a whisper, "I think I want this one."

"Dibs on the other blonde one!" Denki called, prompting MIneta to look at him and raise a brow. The taller teenager looked over and grabbed the other yellow watch saying, "It's blonde like my hair."

"That's not how you use that word, Denki," Mina said, rolling her eyes. "But you're an actual idiot, so I can't expect you to do everything right."

"I've been getting that a lot, lately," Denki mused.

The rest of the group peered into the box and pulled out a watch and strapped it onto them, not particularly caring who got which color or what partner they managed to get—until Mineta pulled the last watch, a bright orange one. "Ew!" Momo screamed, looking at her own orange watch, "I don't want to be responsible for Mineta!"

"Shouldn't have gotten that watch then, stupid ass," Bakugou said, rolling his eyes. He looked at his own watch, finding the wavelength to be white and very steady and shrugged his shoulders. Quickly, he looked around the group and seen that Shouto had his matching watch and he groaned loudly, rolling his eyes. "Who has Kirishima?"

"I do," Izuku said, a smile forming at the ends of his lips.

"Who's Kirishima?" Shouto interjected, looking around with his eyebrows furrowed. He hadn't met everyone in the class, but he was sure that he was catching on pretty quickly; Mina was the girl with pink hair, Denki was the idiot, Momo was the class representative, Jirou was her girlfriend, Bakugou was the guy with the stick up his ass and Ochako was his girlfriend—though he didn't understand why—Izuku was the only one in the classroom with common sense out of everyone in the entire bunch, and Mineta was gross. Kirishima, however? He's never heard of him.

"I'm Kirishima," the redhead piped up from his place at the back of group. Upon seeing his bright red hair, Shouto remembered who he was and almost felt bad for forgetting—almost. If he wanted to be remembered, he would've had to stand out and if he couldn't do that then it was nothing Shouto could do about that. Still, Shouto graced him with a small look, stopping once his eyes spotted a small scar right above the redhead's brown eyes.

"You have a scar," Shouto pointed out.

"Hm?" Kirishima said, tilting his head to the side for a moment. After a moment, he said, "Oh!" and pointed to the smll scar on his face. "You mean this? Above my eye?"

"I have one too," Shouto said, pointing to his own scar on his blue eye, which everyone noticed before and chose to ignore. "Did your dad hit you too?" he asked, prompting Izuku to elbow him in his side.

"You're oversharing again," he whispered, though his seemed to go into one ear and out through the other.

"Uh, no?" Kirishima said, throwing an awkward laugh in. "Denki and I were in a car accident when we were little," he finished, throwing a look over at Denki, who narrowed his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Denki asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I know you remember when we were coming home from school when we were eight and it was raining really hard—"

"—And your mom was mad because we got into another fight—"

"—Which you totally lost—"

"—Suck my dick, I kicked your ass!"

"You're the one who ended up with a bloody nose, but go off."

"And my mom picked me up that day!"

"Bro, I swear you were with me when the car toppled over," he said, before clenching his teeth and holding his head. "Every time I think back on it I swear you're in the car with me." He sucked in a hard breath before shaking his head, sighing deeply. "Whenever I think about it too hard," he started, "my head starts throbbing."

"That went all the way left," Bakugou said, rolling his eyes and looking at Izuku with an emotion other than contempt, "Switch with me, nerd."

"Why?" Izuku asked, his voice light and teasing, much to Bakugou's disdain.

"Because I want Kirishima, duh."

"But why him?"

"Because he's my best friend," Bakugou said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Putting a hand to his head, Izuku smiled a very warm smile before taking his watch off and switching with Bakugou, who grabbed the watch without touching Izuku's tan skin.

"Bro," Kirishima said, wrapping an arm around Bakugou, "I'm your best friend?"

"Yeah, dumbass," Bakugou responded, tightening the watch on his wrist. "Don't let it go to your head," he warned, "I'd sell you to Satan for one corn chip. It just so happens I'd sell everyone else for a lot less than that."

"How much would you sell Ochako for?" Mina asked, giving them a strange look.

"Ochako? I wouldn't sell her to Satan," he said, wrapping an arm around her, "Unless he offered me like, a giant bag of skittles. Then you'd have to go."

"I'm worth a big bag of skittles to you?" she asked, her voice thoughtful as she leaned against him, her head fitting into his shoulder.

"A giant bag. Nothing less, babe."

"As...charming as this," Momo interrupted, rolling her eyes, "if Bakugou gets to switch, then I want to switch, too."

"I'll take Mineta," Denki offered, taking off his watch and giving and giving it to Momo. Ochako, on the other hand, looked as if she had different plans.

"I don't wanna be responsible for her," she said. "Someone switch."

"I'll take Momo," Izuku said, taking his watch off, "You'll have Shouto, but that shouldn't be an issue, right?"

"I'll take him," she said, smiling up at him as she loosened her watch, "he seems like he's alright—a little weird but that's typical." Shouto didn't miss the way her amber eyes winked at him, teasingly and he faintly smiled back at her and scratched the back of his head, a small laugh bubbling on his lips.

"Since everyone's got a partner," Mineta said, stretching his arms out, "I'm gonna go run to the bathroom before we get started."

"The boy's bathroom?" Mina said, narrowing her yellow eyes at him, "It'd suck if we got kicked out because you were peeping."

"Of course the boy's bathroom. I might be a pervert, but women deserve a right to use the bathroom in private," he said, placing a hand above him heart and walking off.

"You believe him?"

"Not in the slightest.

x

In a sense, they were wrong to doubt Mineta. He was plenty of things: a liar, a pervert, a cheater—if he ever got the chance to be one—and a peeping tom, but he was also a man of his word. Truthfully, he was going to the bathroom—the boy's bathroom since Mina wanted to get specific, but he never said that he would stay there. And that is how he found himself crawling through the vents of the bathroom, desperately trying to find the girl's side.

Once he saw the lights underneath the grates and the stench in the air softened to a less gross, but still not pleasant smell, he knew he was home free.

x

"Mineta's such a fucking creep!" Momo said, sitting down and placing a hand underneath her cheek. "He literally left us to spy on some girls using the bathroom."

"You don't know if he's actually doing that," Denki defended from his spot next to her. "He could've went to the locker room to peep."

"It doesn't matter—" Momo began, but then her watch started to vibrate quickly against her skin. She spared a quick glance at everyone, and seen that their watches were vibrating too—fast and loudly. It almost burned her skin, the way the watches moved and ground against the soft flesh hidden there. "What the fuck is happening, Ashido?" she cried, before the vibration suddenly stopped, leaving her wrist red and sore. Before she could say anything else, Denki's watch lit up in bright, bold colors.

"Congratulations!" it cried out, in a voice much like Mei's, "You survived!"

"What the hell does that mean?" Denki said, peering at the watch with furrowed brows.

"It means that you're alive," Ochako said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Maybe Mineta finally died," Bakugou joked, crossing his arms across his chest. "Little creep can't say he didn't have it coming."

"If he's dead, he can't say much of anything," Kirishima pointed out, laughing slightly.

"Maybe we should go check on him?" Izuku asked, looking around at everyone. "He could actually be super dead right now. Denki, what's your watch say?"

"Doesn't say anything," Denki said showing it to Izuku. "When your watches started vibrating, mine went off."

"Shit!" Kirishima said under his breath, jumping up from the table, with the others lagging behind him.

"Does this mean we don't get to enjoy the water?" Mina called, pouting as she followed along with the rest of the group.

x

They said it wasn't supposed to happen—the vents just weren't strong enough to support a whole, human body. It was a freak accident, a force of nature that could have been prevented had he not crawled into the vents—but that was not the point. The point was that it was not supposed to happen, but it did anyway. And really, Mineta was too smart to even try it. He knew better than to crawl in a tiny duct in order to see a breast. When everyone sat down and talked about it, none of it made sense. Nobody could attach a reason as to why Mineta would do something so stupid—except for the most obvious reason.

The curse had started, and it took Mineta first.

The paramedics said that he broke his neck when he fell, even if was only from ten feet above the ground. They weren't allowed to look, but judging from the reactions from the girls leaving the bathroom, it wasn't a pretty sight. "I guess we're not going to be able to spend one of the last hot day doing something fun," Mina said, pouting.

"I mean, Mineta dying isn't not fun," Denki said, playing with his watch, "The little shit shouldn't have been crawling through the vents. Death to the bitch."

"Does this mean we're not gonna fight?" Shouto asked, turning around to Bakugou. who laughed slightly.

"Not today," he confirmed, a light smile on his face. "Mineta gave his life for yours. I'm still gonna rock Deku's shit though. Just becase you're safe, Scarface, doesn't mean that Deku is."

"Run up get done up, Kacchan," Izuku said merrily, resting his head on Shouto's shoulders. "I'm with whatever. I want all the smoke. Whenever."

"You've been really tired lately," Kirishima whispered to him from his desk on Bakugou's right.

"No shit, Sherlock," Bakugou hissed back. Yeah, lately he's been tired because lately Little Miss Space Cadet's been crashing into his window whenever there's a strong enough breeze.

"I don't get why," Kirishima whispered again, "you go to bed at like, nine-thirty." And this is where the annoyance creeps in. Yes, Kirishima was Bakugou's best friend, much to his dismay, and this is why. He was really caring, and he didn't need too much reassurance—he knew his place and why he deserved to be there—but some things, he just didn't pick up on. Like the fact that they were supposed to be in class and not talking to each other.

"You don't need to know why," he bit back, giving up.

"You've been looking at Ochako a lot lately," he whispered, thoughtfully, "Is she keeping you up?"

"You have no idea," Bakugou whispered back, his voice defeated and soft—a surprise to hear in him. This rendered Kirishima silent, and he kept that silence until the end of class. Bakugou didn't know what thought were bubbling in his dear friend's almost empty head, but he knew that it was probably nothing good. Still, he couldn't find the energy within him to care. The only thing he found energy for was to close his bright red eyes and rest his head on his hand, and pray that he wasn't missing important.

x

Turns out, the only thing he missed was the disapproving glare from Aizawa, and the glare—and a strong lecture—was given after everyone else was dismissed. Talks of 'the real world' and 'countless sleepless nights' were supposed to be drilled into his head, and it would've been—had he gotten more than three hours of sleep. It was ironic, he felt, that he wasn't taking in a lecture about sleep because of his lack of sleep. Maybe if he had some time to think on it, he'd be more willing to listen—but right now, all he cared about was getting into bed.

That is, until he ran into the cause of his sleepiness, lurking right outside of the door. If he was more awake, he'd probably had noticed that she was standing there the entire time—but that was neither here nor there. She stood there, looking at him with bright amber eyes, saying nothing—every now and again she'd open her mouth to speak but it seemed like she couldn't find the words to say what she needed to say. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her dark green skirt, and she looked down at her shoes before she could do anything else. "Look," Bakugou started, yawning, "if you don't have anything to say—"

"I do," she said, loudly. She snapped her mouth shut, and drew back a little, shrinking into herself. He rolled his eyes and yawned loudly, not bothering to cover his mouth. "Is that because of me?" she asked, her voice soft. Her wide eyes looked a little sad, but reached up to touch him, brushing her fingers against the purple bags that were starting to form underneath his eyelids.

"Yeah," he yawned, "After you crash into my window at the ass-crack of dawn, I can't get back to sleep."

"Sometimes, I can't get back to sleep, either," she admitted, loosely intertwining her hand with his and pulling him out of the building. "It makes me sick," she explained, "and after throwing up and dry heaving, I can't find it in me to go back to sleep." The sun burst down on their faces as they exited the building, blinding them to the world outside of the school's walls. Eventually, their eyes would adjust—but for now, they were both blinded to everything and she was following off muscle memory and he was finding his way through the sound of her soft voice alone. "I can go over what you missed in class with you—and give you some tips on staying up, if you'd like."

"It's the least you could do," he replied grumpily. Somewhere down the line he found his fingers tightly holding on to hers—wary of her quirk but not particularly caring.

"I also have some eye cream to reduce the bags."

"The only thing I need to reduce them is to be asleep," he said, off-handedly.

"You can sleep with me," she offered, a light smile on her face. "Keep me from floating away and waking anybody else up."

"Yeah," he hummed, resting his head on her shoulder, "Whatever."

x

Unsurprisingly, Ochako found herself floating outside of her bedroom later that evening, crashing into Bakugou's window once again. He swore she did it on purpose, that she was determined to wake him and only him up from his sleep so he could perform terribly in class—but then he stopped his conspiracy theory and lept out to the window to play Prince Charming and save this almost damsel-in-distress. Both awake and exhausted, the two stumbled back into the dorms, tripping over their own feet and landing on the couches in the common area. Too tired to move after days of combat training and Bakugou pretending to be a rescue hero, they fell asleep where they were, legs tangled and arms wrapped around each other in an almost-sweet embrace.

That being said, there were students Nezu enjoyed. They all just so happened to have an IQ higher than three. Momo Yaoyorozu and Tenya Iida, for example. He would run to the ends of the Earth for those two. Their intellect was something to be marveled at—their test scores rivaled those from private schools across the entire country. And both of them were avid athletes—Momo being the captain of the volleyball team and Tenya being a forward on the basketball team. Back in his day, Nezu was quite the active student himself—he was the captain of the chess team and president of the debate club and those did count as sports in his spectated eyes.

For students like Momo and Tenya, he'd run to the ends of the Earth, and he wouldn't run a lap for students like Denki and Mina, who make up the majority of kids at his school. Go figure.

Knowing this, he didn't slow his stride as he ran down the halls to class 1-A, intent on reaching them before the school day ended. Ran by Miss Midnight, class 1-A was a class he watched very intently, for fear of disaster if he took his eyes off of them. He didn't necessarily fear the disaster itself, but parents like Aizawa, who feared the disaster more than needed. After all, people die everyday—and no life was worth more than any other—so what does it matter if it's your kid? Spoiler alert: it doesn't. But if he wanted to keep his life—much less his job—then he knew that he could not share that tidbit of information.

Still, it would be nice if everyone thought like him. He continued to run, passing a blonde student, who yelled, "No running in my halls!" He stopped in his tracks.

"I'm the principal!" he yelled back, turning around to look the students in his big blue eyes. The student remained unaffected, his blue eyes blank.

"And I'm the hall monitor," he said, his voice even and undisturbed, "who has the authority to give anyone detention." A slight manic smile broke out on his face as he raised his notebook, prepared to write a ticket.

"Shouldn't you be in class, Monoma?" Nezu argued back, placing a large hand on his hip. His students were going to be the death of him, he just knew it.

"Shouldn't you be in your office?" the student bit back, taking his pen and scribbling something in his notebook. He tsked and shook his head disapprovingly, saying,"This is going to be a huge blemish in your permanent record." With that, he ripped the note off of his pad and handed it to the principal with a disapproving glare. He tsked again before he walked off, looking for another victim to punish.

Crumpling the note up in his giant hands, Nezu took off again—though his pace was slightly slower than before. He turned a corner, and jogged until he came face-to-face with his destination—Class 1-A. The normally quiet class was brimming to life through the closed door, porbably due to the two new students who entered. Nezu heard that Todoroki was quite popular—albeit hot and cold—at his previous school, and Shinsuo seemed like he could stir the pot a little. He opened the door, and his large, black eyes scanned the room, finding the all of the students talking amongst each other in slightly hushed voices. It was a small, almost normal gesture, but it never failed to warm his heart. He loved when his students caught a break and—wait all of the students? His eyes darted back and forth, counting the students in his head, finding that there was one too many participating in the classroom discussion. Nervously, he asked, "What the hell is going on here?"

"Language, Principal Nezu!" Miss Midnight scolded, pointing a red finger in his direction.

"Yeah! You're supposed to use 'fuck' so that people know you're serious, Nezu," Denki chided, shaking his head. Nezu looked over and found Miss Midnight nodding her head in approval, and he sighed greatly. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand found that he was sweating—fantastic.

"Why is everyone is class participating?" he said, opting to ignore the blonde wonder.

"Because Todoroki's a fucking idiot," Bakugou barked from his desk, his eyes ablaze, "and Deku...well, I don't know what he did wrong, but he fucking sucks anyway."

"That's not nice, Kacchan," Izuku called in a sing-song voice, not looking up from his work with the new student, Shouto.

"Kacchan's going to kick your ass," Bakugou replied in that same sing-song voice. "Both of your asses," he added.

"Didn't you say I get a pass if Mineta dies first?" Todoroki said, raising a brow. "Although we can fight. I'm with the shits."

"Face it," Mineta said, standing on his desk, "Tokoyami's gonna die first. He's probably going to croak as soon as we leave the building."

"Why me?" a dark boy with a darker aura, Tokoyami, said, crossing his arms. He rolled his brown eyes and stared at the small, purple haired pervert, and couldn't help the laugh that was forming on his lips.

"It's basic horror movie plot—the black guy dies first." Nezu was going to have a heart attack.

"That's racist, Mineta. And there's two other black people in class—Izuku and Mina. Who's stopping them from dying first?"

"One of the leading causes of death in black women just so happens to be black men," Mina said, putting a hand on her desk and turning to face Tokoyami. "So if I die, it's probably going to be your fault. Or Izuku's." A stroke maybe? Was their principal going to have a stroke?

"If anyone dies it's Izuku's fault," Denki added. Oh, he was going to have an anuerism.

"Stop it—all of you!" Nezu said, putting his hand on his temples and sighing. "So the curse has been activated?" he said, looking directly at Momo and Tenya, who were partnered up and seemingly ignoring the spectacle that was unfolding in the class.

"Sorry Sir!" Tenya said, standing upright and bowing, "I didn't get a chance to talk to Todoroki before he violated our rules! As a class representative, I take seventy-five percent of the responsibility—though Momo should take twenty-five percent as she did only have one job."

"It's kind of hard to say 'Don't talk to the green-haired kid' without acknowledging the green-haired kid exists, but go off, I guess," Momo added from her seat, rolling her dark eyes.

"It's fine," Nezu said, propping himself on one knee and touching Momo's shoulder, "Sometimes things just happen. The important thing is that we learn from the past and move on, and try not to repeat past mistakes." She smiled at him and leaned into his soft touch, feeling his warmth. "And moving on means accepting that Class 1-A has two new students, so we need to update the class photo! If everyone could please gather around outside."

x

The sun beat down on Shouto's head and warmed his scalp, and he found himself moving towards a large tree, some of its green leaves strewn across the ground haphazardly. He sat down against it's trunk, leaning his head against the hard bark, finding it better than letting the sun beat down on him. His eyes darted back and forth between the students in the class, finding that they seemed to blend into each other but stand apart at the same time. He took special notice to Momo, ducked off away from most of the class to laugh with the same purple haired girl from earlier, a bright smile on her face as she stared at the smaller girl. They made up an un-cohesive whole, bright colors jamming into each other at odd angles to form a picture that he found different, but not bad to look at. As he looked on from the outside, he seen Izuku break away from Ochako and Tenya, making his way towards him.

"You look lonely," he said, his voice bright and happy. He took a seat next to him and said, "It's not often we get to come outside for class, and we all haven't been together for a while."

"It's nice, I suppose," he responded after a while, looking at the teenager.

"You going to the water park today? You can ride with me, if you want."

"I already told Bakugou that I'd go, and I don't wanna be looked at as a liar," he laughed off, looking Izuku in those bright green eyes. "But riding you—with you sounds nice."

"I've never had any complaints," he said, shrugging, "but sometimes I get a little too crazy with the aux cord. Denki thinks he knows trap, but Mina and I know trap."

Shouto opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the principal, shouting, "Scooch together everyone! I don't want to have to use up more space than I have to!" As directed, the class got together, finding themselves close to him, underneath the tree he found himself in. Izuku stood up from his spot and moved closer to the girls, seeing as he was one of the shortest boys in the class and he wanted to be seen in the picture. Todoroki moved towards the center of the class, finding himself sandwiched in between Denki and Tenya. "Say cheese!" The camera let off a bright flash and temporarily blinded him, and he felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was cold, freezing, filling up his entire being and shaking him to his core.

And just like that, it was over.

His classmates rushed over to the phone to look at the picture, and he hung back, not wanting to crowd the principal. He looked around and found Izuku staring at him, and he wandered over to him, and found himself staring down at the phone, anyway. It was a good shot—the background was pretty and their uniforms were wonderful—but there was something off putting about it. There was something not quite right at what he was looking at.

"Where's Tooru?" Mina said, squinting.

"Right here," a short girl said, raising a hand,

"No, dumbass," Denki said.

"That's rich coming from you," the principal muttered under his breath.

"We mean like in the photo. You don't show up," Mina said, and Denki hummed in agreement, scanning the photo. The small girl pushed her way to the front and gripped the camera in her own small hands, staring down at it with intense eyes. She furrowed her eyebrows and stuck her tongue out a little, letting it rest on her face. The school bell rang in the background, and a few moments later students began pouring out of the building.

"I'm right here," she said, zooming in slightly, "I'm just little." Her voice was light but carried over the noise of everyone leaving the building, meeting up with their friends. The class let out a collective sigh of relief before splitting off, Izuku sticking to his side and grasping his hand lightly, his head turned away and laughing at something Ochako said. His hand was small but rough in his hand, and he noticed a large scar running across his palm and he felt responsible, for a reason he could not name.

"My car's this way," he said, leading him into the crowded parking lot. The students pulled into the parking lot quickly, whirring past them without regard for their safety, and Shouto wondered if it really took a curse for a casualty to happen in their school. Still, he stuck by Izuku and followed him throughout the parking lot, until they stumbled upon a bright red, but awfully small vehicle. Proudly, Izuku patted the hood, saying, "Jeezy sent me the car because I'm always wearing their shoes." He opened a door and hopped in, prompting Shouto to do the same.

"Jeezy?" he asked, "Like the shoe company?"

"Exactly," Izuku confirmed, revving up the car and pulling out of the parking lot. He handed off his phone to Shouto to key in the directions, which he did, but then he found himself scrolling through his playlist. Glancing over, Izuku smiled and said, "Pick anything you want."

"Say no more," Shouto complied, tapping the screen once before a familiar beat came on through the speakers. "My dad was an old hip-hop head," he said, before the words came in, "I knew this song like the back of my hand when I was six."

"It's not the original," Izuku said, before continuing, "It's the City Girls and you know we'll out-fuck you, so get out my face before I touch you, heaux. Don't you know? Can't you understand? If you fuck with me I'll take your man!" He spared a glance over at Shouto, who sat in the passenger's seat with a slightly perplexed look on his face, but he said nothing. Slowly, a smile broke out onto his face and he shook his head, his soft hair fluttering in his face.

"It's almost like the original," he offered, a laugh on the ends of his lips. "Though, I never really cared too much for the original—anything my dad liked, I hated."

"You and your dad don't get along?"

"My dad's in jail for severely abusing me for most of my life."

"You're oversharing, but okay."

"Oversharing would be telling you that when we get to the house, my mom might be high." Izuku shot him a confused, disturbed look, prompting him to add on, "She's not a crackhead or anything—but my dad really fucked her up and she smokes a lot of week to mellow her out."

"You were right, Shouto," Izuku said, pausing for just a moment, "That would definitely be oversharing. Do you do that a lot?"

"Only with people I trust."

"You just met me—but that was cute."

"Shut up and let me flirt," Shouto said, a fake sigh leaving his voice as he tried to sound exasperated.

"You don't know how to flirt if you call that flirting."

"Maybe you could show me how sometime," Todoroki proposed, not missing the smirk that crossed Izuku's eyes.

"There's a lot of things I could show you," Izuku promised.

Notes:

“I’m going to kill that bastard,” an angry voice said, grabbing Shouto’s attention. Whipping his head around, he found an angry blonde staring at him, a murderous glint in his red eyes. Rolling his eyes, Shouto turned his attention back to the pretty boy with pretty eyes, just in time to catch him move his lips.

“Kacchan!”

The first word Shouto heard out his mouth was someone else’s name—and he couldn’t help but feel jaded by it. It rolled off the tongue easily, as if he’d been saying it his entire life. There was no reason why his first word should’ve been anything else—though there’s no reason why it shouldn’t have been, either. He did love the way his voice sounded, however. It was enthusiastic and bright, and it would’ve bought a smile to his face—had “Kacchan” not spoke.

“I’m gonna beat up that green haired bitch too,” Kacchan affirmed, looking at the girl next to him, who furrowed her small eyebrows. She pouted her full lips at him and huffed with disdain, crossing her arms across her chest. “But I’m going to kill that mismatched fucker first.”

“Katsuki!” she screamed, slamming her hands down on her desk.

“Ochako!” he screamed back, his voice strained. The class let out a collective groan that seemed to resonate in Shouto’s soul. Judging by their responses, these two arguing was not anything they wanted to be around. “If anyone’s going to die in this bitch, he’s going to be first,” he finished, looking Shouto in his eyes.

“Nobody’s gonna die, babe,” she said, rolling her amber eyes and placing a hand on her round cheeks.

“We don’t know that anymore!” he argued back. “Anything we had stopping this shit is gone because Deku decided he wanted to be a fucking attention whore!”

“I didn’t do anything,” the green eyed boy squeaked from his seat in the back of the classroom. “I’ve just been sitting here this whole time. It’s not my fault I’m cute.” He threw his hands up as he shrugged, and shook his hair out of his eyes a little.

“Okay confidence!” a girl with light tan skin and yellow eyes, Mina Ashido, said from the front of the classroom, “I see you, boo!” Her pink hair whipped around her head as she looked at Ochako and called, “Are we still going to the pool? ‘Cause I still wanna go.”

“She’s not going any-fucking-where,” the blond yelled, putting a defensive hand on her shoulder. “Not while there’s a fucking curse on all of us! And your stupid ass shouldn’t want to go, either,” he muttered the last part, purposely lowering his voice so that she wouldn’t hear him, but she did anyway. Ochako, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms across her chest and furrowing her brows.

"You're not my dad," she said, defiantly.

"But you call me daddy, so shut the fuck up."

Before she could open her mouth to retort, the bell rang—a long, loud sound that echoed throughout the entire building. Slowly, the students began rising from their seats, running over to their friends before heading to lunch. "So what're you in the mood for, fluffy? I want a good burger," Denki said, slinging his arm around Shinsuo, who either didn't notice or mind enough to remove it. He kept his nose buried deep into his phone, scrolling through his library to find a new song to play while walking to the cafeteria. "But ony if there's fries with it—curly fries. I fucking love curly fries," Denki continued.

"I like curly fries too...and call me Shinsuo," he said, throwing a glance at Denki, his eyes lighting up slightly.

"So you can speak? I thought you were blind or something."

"You're a moron." With a roll of purple eyes, he turned up the volume of his phone, intent on drowning out the world—or at least the barely-passing student talking in his ear.

"What's in your headphones?" he said, pulling a white earbud out and dropping it.

"I only listen to thug music," Shinsuo said, showing his phone with a proud smile on his face and popping his dropped headphone into Denki's ear. You can stand my umbrella-ella-ella, eh eh eh, echoed throughout his ears. "Rihanna's the G.O.A.T.—the greatest of all time. She's savage," he said, carrying onto his own world.

On the otherside of the classroom, Todoroki stood aloof, Deku staring at his with large, bright eyes. "Thank you for noticing me," he started, looking up at the taller teenager with stars in his eyes, "You acknowledged me...even after knowing that you could die, you still chose to see me. It's been so long since anyone's noticed me—which doesn't make a whole lot of sense because I'm the main character, but whatever."

"Weird flex but okay," Shouto said, blowing off what Deku said and preferred just to look at him. He cocked his head to the side as the gears in his brain turned, red hair falling into his grey eyes. "Wait, what the fuck, Deku? Run that back," he said, twisting his fingers in circles.

"One," he began, "my name is Izuku Midoriya."

"Whatever, just say that again," he demanded, pushing the hair out of his eyes. He knew that he had to be mistaken—that he hadn't heard what he just thought he heard.

"I'm the main character?"

"Further back."

"Nobody noticed me?"

"Further."

"Knowing you could die?"

So he did hear what he thought he heard. "Yeah—that—what the fuck? When the fuck—why would anybody die?" he said, throwing his hands up in the air, a confused look crossing his features.

"It's the disaster," Momo said, crossing her arms across her chest and a frown forming on her lips, "we don't know what happens—or why, really. Only that it does happen."

"What the fuck is 'it'?!" Shouto said, his voice aggressive and exasperated.

"Every year, people in this classroom and people close us to die—in horrible ways. Thirty years ago, there was a student in class 1-A named Yagi Toshinori, and everybody loved him. He was insanely popular—always smiling. One day, he got murdered in the building—they found his intenstines outside of his body. But his classmates loved him so much that they kept acting like he was still with them. And ever since that year ended, there's been an 'extra' student in the class. A dead one," Momo said, her voice tight and angry, "To account for them, we ignore one student from the class. It's worked for six years—until you ruined it, Todoroki!"

"You just said that you didn't know what happened or why," Shouto said, a second away from tears his hair out.

"I lied for suspense," Momo shrugged, walking away from the group, grabbing a girl with short, purple hand's and pulling her out of the classroom.

"What does any of this shit mean?" Todoroki said, looking back at Izuku. The boy stared at him with bright eyes, and opened his mouth to speak, but the words were stolen from his throat. Before he could warn him, a strong hit came from the side of his face, throwing his off his balance.

"It means that you fucking killed us all, dumbass!" Katsuki yelled, the girl with auburn hair—Ochako—gripping his shoulder with strength that he didn't think she possessed. "All because you just had to talk to the fucking loser? I swear to God if anyone dies, you're going next," he threatened, his finger pointed in Shouto's face.

"Bakugou!" a taller boy yelled, "I understand that you're angry—"

"Eat a dick, Iida," he hissed back, "My girlfriend has asthma. You don't know shit."

"I'm sorry everyone," Ochako apologized, gripping his shoulders tighter than before, pulling him away from the small group forming. "We're leaving," she whispered in his ear, and he allowed her to lead him away. She dropped her hand from his shoulder and it found itself in his larger hand, intertwined where she felt like she was supposed to be. As they left out of the classroom, she rested her head on her shoulder, his skin warming her cheek. They turned down the hallway, but stopped before the cafeteria, Bakugou taking a turn that Ochako didn't expect. She cocked a small eyebrow but said nothing—there was rarely anything Bakugou could do to surprise her at this point in their relationship. She felt him lead her down an almost unfamiliar hall, but they stopped in front of a few lockers.

A fierce blush overtook her cheeks as she felt him cup her face with his hand. His lips graced her forehead and she closed her larger, amber eyes. "I don't want anything to happen to you," he whispered against her skin. She nodded at this, a dreamy sigh escaping her lips. "There's so much we haven't gotten to do yet...I don't want to lose a second with you."

A small smile crossed her face, and she bought his forehead down to her own, rubbing her nose against his own. "You're not going to miss a thing, babe," she said, gripping his free hand. "Nothing." She pushed herself up on her toes, bringing her lips to his and delivering a small, chaste, kiss. "I promise, we're gonna get through this."

x

The cafeteria was crowded by the time they arrived, though Mina saved the couple's seats—unfortuntely, they were right across from Todoroki and Izuku, much to Katsuki's dismay. As soon as he sat down, he stared Izuku in his bright green eyes and said, "I still need to kick your ass."

Izuku nodded, saying, "Looking forward to it." He took a bite out his sandwich, chewing.

"Are we still going swimming today, Ochako?" Mina said, smiling as she sipped her soup.

"Yeah, we can go after class today. It's super hot out today and I wanna go before it starts getting cold out," Ochako confirmed. She threw a glance at Katsuki, who nodded at her, seemingly reading her mind. "He's coming, too," she said, throwing a thumb at her boyfriend, "And you two can come along. It's been forever since I was allowed to talk to Izuku." Her bright eyes looked at both Todoroki and Izuku, and she smiled softly.

"Don't come, Half 'N Half," Katsuki added, looking at him without fear.

"I'm going to come anyway," he responded, slurping his noodles loudly.

"Oop," Mina said, looking up from her food, "So you're bold bold." Katsuki threw a mean look towards her, though she didn't notice, simply smiling into her food. "Gone head; I ain't mad at cha," she finished, popping a fry into her pink lips.

"We're coming too!" Denki called, walking up to their small table with Mineta and Shinsuo, the latter of which pointing a disgusted look towards the former. "You know me and Mineta can't pass up a pool opportunity," he added, smiling softly.

"Captain Creep can't hang with us," Mina said, glaring at the shorter boy, "but y'all can slide through."

"Hey," Mineta said, "I resent that. And considering someone," he said, looking at Shouto, who very calmly flipped him off, "decided to screw us all, I want to spend what could be my last day on Earth surrounded by beautiful women in very little clothing. And you do not get to decide how I live my life."'

"And you don't see anything wrong with anything you just said?" Izuku asked, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Because there was so much wrong with what you just said."

"Like what?" he asked, incredulous.

"Those 'beautiful women'," he said, putting air quotes around beautiful women, "don't want you staring at them. I'm sure they're not trying to surround you, either."

"I mean...okay?"

"You're objectification of women is disgusting, fucking weirdo," Katsuki said, rolling his eyes. "And you do realize that the more people that go—the more likely it is that someone's gonna die? Because that is exactly how this works, morons." He sipped his drink before a lightbulb went off in his head, and a sick smile crossed his face. "You know what, fuck it, let's all go. And if Mineta is the one who dies, I won't kill Todoroki. I'll still fuck Deku's ass up though."

"My name's not Deku," Izuku said.

"Your name is whatever I say it is, Deku."

"My father made me promise to stay home today," Shinsuo said, finally speaking up. "And I'd rather not hang out with this purple pervert, either."

The older woman cracked a small, sad smile, accentuating the thin lines forming underneath her eyes. Staring at her, his mismatched eyes looking at her grey ones with an intensity he got from his father, he noticed that he never seen her look So aged—not during the fragments of memories he had from his childhood, not during any of the supervised visits he had during puberty, and not throughout the trials this summer and all the summers before. Up until this point, his mother had remained perfectly ageless, stuck in her mid-twenties. “I can’t help but to worry, Shouto,” she sighed, placing her hands on her temples. “I got my baby back but he’s not a baby anymore, and now he’s going to a new school and doesn’t have a friend in the world.”

“I’m not interested in making friends,” he quipped back, taking a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

"Oh God," she moaned, dropping her head onto the table, "your father's made you antisocial." Shouto only shrugged and continued to eat his cereal, smacking his lips very loudly. "There's nothing wrong with having friends, Shouto."

"I don't want anything to do with the idiots down at that school, mom," he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"You don't even know them."

"I don't need to know them. They go to public school for a reason."

"A public school that you'll be attending," a sharp voice interjected, "and please, little brother, don't cut yourself on all that edge." Shouto looked up to find his eldest brother, Touya looking down at him, all smiles and black hair dye. The elder Todoroki placed a kiss on his mother's forehead, the small smile spreading into something larger, fuller. "I'm only going to public school because—" Shouto began.

"—Dad's going to jail!" Touya finished, his own smile growing wide. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"That's not—" their mother attempted to say, but she was cut off by her youngest son.

"It's fuckin amazing," Shouto said, his own smile forming on his face.

"Boys!" their mother screamed, closing her eyes and scrunching her face together. "What we will not do," she said, her eyes serious and fingers pointing sharp, "is talk about your father. Outside, we probably can't avoid talking about him—he was Endervour, after all—but inside of this house, we don't have to talk about him. He isn't ruining our lives anymore." The boys looked at each other and nodded at their mom, the younger taking this oppurtunity to take another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Slowly, Touya raised his hand, a devilish smirk crossing his features. "Do I want to answer your question?" she sighed, a small smile crossing her face again.

"Can we talk shit about dad? 'Cause fuck that guy, mom." Touya said, crossing his arms over his chest triumphantly.

"Yeah, fuck him," Shouto added.

"My ex-husband corrupted my first son and turned my last one into a potty mouth," their mom said, head falling into his hands and sighing loudly. "Don't you both have a class? College and high schools and everything?" she sighed. She glanced at the clock and seen that it was a quarter past eight—the train would be coming shortly. "Please," she said, looking to Touya with wide eyes, "please make sure my baby gets to school safely."

x

Shouto was only able to steal glimpses of the principal as he sat outside of his office, his foot tapping the floor impatiently as he waited to be seen by the man. From what he could see, he was an older man with white hair and round, dark eyes, seeing pupiless. He was going back and forth with another man, probably a few years younger than him, but he looked like he hadn't showered in days. A teenager was in the room as well, though he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. It looked like it was turning into a shouting match, though he was not able to hear much through the thick glass. The door opened a the teenager walked out, his eyes sullen and his face annoyed. He could hear the yelling that he thought what was going on, shoutings of "You can't!" leaving the room before the door slammed shut.

"What the fuck is going on in there?" Shouto asked, his voice deep and serious.

"None of your fucking business," the other teenager responded, pushing his purple hair out of his face. His sullen, purple eyes rolled about in his skull, irritated but not paying Shouto any extra attention. With a heavy sigh, he put his white headphones in his ears and closed his eyes, rocking his head back and forth. He leaned back in his chair, probably thinking that he would be in the office a while, and he was going to ignore Shouto the entire time.

Like hell t(he)y were.

With "Fuck this," rolling off of his tongue, Shouto stood up and walked towards the closed office door and flung it open, much to the annoyance of the purple haired teenager sitting next to him. He found himself staring at the two men in the room, the white haired principal looking unsettlingly calm while staring at the scruffy man, who's narrow eyes bore into Shouto's angst-filled teenage soul. The scruffy man looked like he hadn't slept in years, deep bags settling under his eyes as if they belonged, the discoloration almost natural. His greasy, dark hair was splayed all across his head, falling in his face, almost shielding him from the teenager's view. A small scar ran along one of his eyelids, reminding Shouto of his own scar over his left eye. He reached out to touch it, but snapped out of it when he felt the tough, wrinkled skin that he's always known to be there. Seeing the men's expressions shift from confused to irritated, he opened his mouth and flippantly said, "What the fuck is taking so long? I wanna be in class before I graduate."

The scruffy man's eyes rolled before he diverted his attention back to the principal, saying, "Why can't we put this little shit in class 1-A and leave my son out of it?"

"That's an awful thing to say, Aizawa!" the principal scolded, but he made no effort to conceal the smile that formed on his face. "Besides, this is Todoroki. He's going to be joining class 1-A as well, the school it too crowded to put them any place else. If we had it my way, there would be no class 1-A, but we both know that isn't how it works," the principal said, adding a dry laugh to the end of his sentence. Shouto gave a haphazard glance to his nameplate, reading Nezu. Principal Nezu continued, "I'll get you in your class shortly, young man, though you're welcome to take a seat next to Shinsuo in the waiting area."

"I'm sick of waiting," he countered, leaning into the doorway. The principal kept his smile on his face and crossed his unusually large hands, twiddling his thumbs.

"And that's fine, young man, but that doesn't mean anything is going to move any faster. Here at Yuuei, we don't operate on the schedules of entitled brats such as yourself. And the next time you come into my office using harsh language, there will be dire consequences. Feel free to stand in my doorway if it tickles your fancy. A representative from your class should be here shortly." Silently, Shouto leaned into the doorway, crossing his arms across his chest and huffing slightly. A small smirk crossed his face, and he looked at the principal with sight disdain. The principal bought his eyes back to Aizawa, continuing, "I'm doing everything I can for my student's safety. I always do. This is just how it has to be."

"That's bullshit!" Aizawa said, slamming his hand on the table, "This doesn't just affect you, Nezu! It affects my son! Both of them!"

"Aizawa—"

"Mirio's in college, now! And Eri," he paused for a moment, a small smile appearing on his face, "...Nezu, she's so perfect." Aizawa opened his palm and closed it again, cracking his knuckles. "My kids have already been through enough, Nezu! This class is evil, and you know it! My kids can't afford any accidents! They are all they've got!"

"I understand that, but my hands are tied. If everyone follows the rules set in place, then maybe we can finish the year without incident. It's all I can do," Nezu said, his voice leaving his body towards the end. "This is hard for all of us, and it affects all of us. Nobody knows who's going to be next, Shouta."

A soft knock on the door drew everyone's attention away from the principal and the parent, bringing it to a young woman, peeking her head into the doorway. From what Shouto could see of her, she was pretty, having sparkling dark eyes and sharp features. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and she spoke softly, "Sir?" Hesitantly, she bought herself in the office, allowing Shouto to see her fully. Her long legs were covered in black tights that stopped right below her knees, and Todoroki took full notice of this. Her dark green skirt covered far too much for his liking, but he didn't say anything. She wore a grey vest over her white uniform shirt, emphasizing how small her waist was compared to her chest. "I'm Momo Yaoyorozu," she said, extending her hand to Shouto, who bought it towards his lips and placed a small kiss on her palm. A light blush crossed her face before she snatched her hand away, saying, "I-I'll be taking you and Shinsuo to class."

With that, she turned on her heels and exited the office, Shouto trailing not too far behind her. The purple haired teenager followed along silently behind, his shoes silently scuffing against the floor. Aizawa and Nezu watched them until they couldn't see them anymore, disappearing into the dimly lit hallways. When the teenagers disappeared, Aizawa turned to Nezu and said, "If my son—if any of those kids die, you're next."

x

"Class 1-A runs a little different from the rest of the class," Momo started, walking the teenagers down the halls, "we have a couple rules, and really bad things happen when you don't follow them.

"I don't like rules," Shouto replied, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"They're there for a reason," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Rules are made to be broken, Momo."

"That's the exact opposite of what rules are made for, Todoroki," she replied, her voice stern. They came upon a door and she opened it, smiling as she entered the class. The room radiated with life, bright colors from every angle attacking Todoroki. Laughter and chatter filled the air, creating a warm atmosphere that he almost basked in. His eyes were immediately drawn to the back of the classroom, seeing a row of empty desk and a single student sitting behind those desk, his green eyes bleeding into his own. His slightly tanned face was covered in freckles and he made no effort to look friendly, sitting in the back of the classroom without a single emotion displayed on his face.

He needed a haircut.

"Everyone, this is Todoroki and Shinsuo," Momo introduced loudly, "and maybe they would like to say something about themselves...?" Her eyes trailed to them, looking up at them brightly.

As if on cue, both of them said, "I'm not here to make friends." A strange silence crept into the class, but a moment later the students erupted into laughter, save for two of them—a blonde boy with an angry aura and a brunette with dark skin, who seemed to have a dark cloud circling him.

A blonde with a dark streak in his hair spoke up, "There can't be two edgy bitches in this class—"

"Language, Kaminari!" the teacher, an attractive young woman with diamond shaped glasses and bright blue eyes, scolded.

"Sorry, Miss Midnight," the blonde, Kaminari, said before continuing, "There can't be two edgy fucks—" he looked at Miss Midnight, who nodded her head in approval—"in this class, and Half 'n Half's got you beat, Cheshire Cat. Come on and sit next to me." He patted the empty desk behind him, calling over Shinsuo, who only sighed and grabbed the seat that he pointed to. Todoroki, on the other hand, stayed standing in the doorway, his eyes locked on the boy with green eyes and freckles.

"Sit wherever you'd like, Todoroki," Miss Midnight spoke, placing her hand on his shoulder, having it linger a little to long for it to be appropriate—not that he minded. "Just not in the very back, it's hand to see you from back there." It was becoming painfully obvious that they didn't want him in the back of the classroom, next to the boy with those piercing green eyes.

But he was going to do that anyway, because that's just who he was.

Confidently, he sauntered to the back of the room, taking the seat right in front of him. Miss Midnight gave him a soft, pleading look before shaking her head no, saying, "There's nothing for you back there. You're about to make a very big mistake, Todoroki."

"Am I breaking the rules?"

"You're about to," she said, her voice stern and powerful.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," he replied, a small smile forming on his face. He turned his head around, looking at the boy in his green eyes. He noticed the way his hair curled, thick from the root, a slight green tinge to the almost blackness that consumed the top of his head. His delicate green eyes lit up as Todoroki looked at him, but he said nothing, drawing in an anxious breath.

Raking her long, thin fingers through his ebony hair, she imagined the next steps of the routine. Soon enough, he'd stir and she'd break free of his hold, and she'd slip on the panties from the night before. He'd grunt and awaken, sweating, he was always sweating. She'd check the medicine cabinet and take the little pill in the pretty pink packaging, and then he'd be gone. Rolling her broken-beer-bottle green eyes towards the window, she found the sunlight creeping in, destroying the darkness that hid their dirty deeds. In the light, the evidence of the night before emerged, unabashed and unashamed. She felt him stir, low moans escaping from his mouth.

(You—We don't have to do this.) (There is no we.) (Oh?) (There's just me and you. Sasuke and Sakura.) (Oh.)

The opportunity to leave presented itself. It'd be so easy, so simple to throw on her clothes and drive home, to break the routine and leave their tired tango—but the bathroom called her. She'd been there so many time, it seemed natural that she'd make an excursion there the first chance she could. Upon feeling him shift, she slipped his arm away from her waist. Still, she laid there, unmoving, stiff, still. The sunlight streamed into the tiny room and dimly lit it, the adventures of the night not secret, not but not quite known. Clothes strewn about, broken bottles, jumbled blankets and lost phones littered the area, meticulously messy. Gently, without thinking, Sakura lifted Sasuke's arm and placed it on her waist. With bottle green eyes lazily looking about, Sakura knew peace. Serenity was not found, nor given, but discovered in the presence of another person, she thought as the rising sun bought more light in.

(You've had too much to drink.) (Nonono, no such thing.) (You're not gonna remember this in the morning.) (I always do.) (Suit yourself.) (What is this?) (This is you and me.)

She could've left. She could've gathered her little black dress and red heels and left. She could've walked away from him and never looked back. He was sleeping, it was daylight, she was young, it was proper. She could've taken the next step and walked to the bathroom. She could've been a slave to their game, followed the next step in their tango. It was what they were good at. It was right. He'd see her again at another bar, another club, another grocery store. They'd share another drink and share another kiss and share another bed. It was what they were good at.

In the end, she decided to stay. His arm was wrapped around her waist, and imprisoning her, trapping her onto the bed. Pink, full lips stretched into a smile as she gently rolled over to face him. Shockingly, she found him to be awake, his onyx eyes bleeding into her bottle greens. Bright, red bruises speckled across his pale skin, some turning a shade of purple she felt was beautiful. If she looked down, she'd find a couple across her chest, though smaller and duller. Releasing a breath, she whispered, "Good morning, honey."

"What is this?" he asked, his voice sleepy, but amused. Pulling her closer to him, Sasuke planted a kiss on her forehead and breathed her in.

When giving that advice, Hibari never factored in how much he’d miss her. He was only home once, maybe twice a week, and fewer times was spent at the Vongola headquarters where she spent most of her time. Every so often, he’d find himself in her bed, embracing her with a desperation that he thought he abandoned a long time ago. Even so, he found himself slinking out of her bed, her house, her life, with the same desperation he possessed the night before. To see her, awake and alert and expecting him to disappear was something he decided he never wanted to see—the large, mouse-like eyes would provoke something in him that he’d rather stay suppressed.

The day she first told him she should leave, he had no idea what to do. He found her sitting on the counter, legs crossed at the ankles and eyes large and round, piercing him with a doe’s steady gaze. She sipped her coffee black, without needing any sugar or cream to help her keep it down, and told him that their little flings were a game to her, a game she hated that she was losing. There was something in her eyes, a carnivorous spark that almost intimidated him, but he told her to do what she wanted—to go to Italy. He knew she would, the opportunity was amazing and she loved to travel, and he figured that if he was ever there, they could play their game until the round ran out of time.

Since then, he’s described his life in three parts—Pre-Haru, Post-Haru and the in between. He’s only used these terms in the safety and privacy of his own mind, but he used them nonetheless. The doe-eyed girl left more of an impression on him than he thought possible, and he acknowledged her for it.

•

The next time he seen her, she was different. She cut her hair and dyed it black, probably to blend in better. Being in their line of work was dangerous, and now that she was alone, she was practically begging for something to happen to her. Changing her appearance was probably a part of the deal.

It didn’t suit her. She was never the kind of girl that blended into her surroundings, and standing in a sea of people with blunt bob haircuts and pretty, red lipstick-stained lips that looked just like hers, she was almost overtaken. That was kind of the point, Hibari figured, but that still didn’t ease the nausea in his stomach from seeing so many people who looked like her. It wasn’t until they locked eyes that the feeling subsided, and disappeared completely when those plump red lips spread into a wide, tooth bearing grin. She bent her head down and fished a cigarette out of her pocket and held it between her teeth as she walked towards him, he boots clicking as she neared. Hibari did nothing to catch up to her, standing still in the hotel lobby as people came and went around him.

Haru almost walked past him, doe eyes looking ahead and focused, the cigarette still perched in her teeth. Standing a hair’s breath behind him, she stopped and dug her hands in her pocket, fiddling and fumbling with a lighter. Dropping it between slick fingers, Hibari turned around and scooped it up, getting his first glimpse of her up close in eleven months.

Those brown eyes that he used to stare at seemed older now, farther off. They were doe-y and large, but possessed a strange edge, a ferocity that he hasn’t seen before. “You can keep it, honey. I’ve got another in my car,” she said, taking the cigarette out of her mouth for a moment. She tossed him a wink before leaving, and then sashayed away, leaving him empty and confused. Watching her leave, he noticed that she was carrying a small, black luggage behind her. The wheels were old but the case shined, as if she spent hours cleaning it.

He looked down at the lighter and saw an address etched into the silver case. It was more than likely intentional, though incredibly reckless; Haru was never one for safety, anyway.

•

The address led to an apartment complex in the diamond district by the coast—where politicians of both of legal government and the seedy underground spent thousands of dollars for everyone to keep quiet. The building itself was modern and sleek, the outside having white siding and the inside covered in bright, white tiles that Hibari seen his reflection in.

He followed the lighter until he found her door, a cute placemat with ducks situated outside of it. He thought to knock, but twisted the doorknob without doing so—remembering he always had a key to her townhouse in Japan so this should be no different. The door opened easily, and he found Haru sitting on the couch, her back turned away from the door and towards a wall entirely made of glass. The same white tiles flowed into her apartment until they met with the white carpet in the living room, contrasting vividly with her teal and black furniture.

Taking off his shoes and stepping inside, he broke the silence, “Leaving your door unlocked is stupid. I could’ve killed you by now.”

This earned a laugh from Haru, and she turned around and faced him. Standing up on the couch, she smiled as she revealed that she was clutching her own weapon, a small, pink gun wrapped around her fingers. Aiming it playfully, she said, “You’d have to get me before I got you.” Earning a confused look, she held her hands up and dropped the weapon, wandering towards him. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she mused, looking around, “it’s like a dream, Kyoya.”

He flinched at the use of his name. She noticed this, but didn’t say anything, watching him carefully. He didn’t give way to his emotions anytime when he was around her—though sometimes she pretended that he loved her when he was inside her—and seeing him as wary as he was made her a little nervous. Gently, she reached out and brushed his face with the side of her hand, and he caught it, quick and rough. “You left,” he said.

Her brown eyes lit up for a moment, but then cooled themselves down. "You told me to," she bit back, her voice small but bitter. She attempted to snatch her hand back but found herself powerless against him. They stood there for a moment, both too wrapped up in each other's proximity to do anything other than stare. In that moment, Haru thought she was back in Japan, getting ready to spend another night pretending they were something more than barely friends. It would've been a good night, where they spent most of wrapped up in each other rather than inside of each other, exploring each other's minds after exploring their bodies.

Hibari broke first, letting go of her hand and cupping her face, bringing his lips to hers and kissing her like he hasn't kissed her in years, though it had only been six months. He wasn't surprised that he was met with equal passion—Haru had always been a passionate girl outside of the bedroom, and she simply exploded inside of it—her arms wrapping around his neck tight enough to choke him. In a break from their usual routine, he found himself with his back against the door, overpowered by the small woman with dark hair. It was different, foreign and weird, but then again, he was in a completely foreign country with a woman who loooked weirder than he imagined.

•

He awoke to sunlight bleeding into his eyes through closed eyelids coming from a window he didn't know existed. He distinctly remembered Haru having black curtains to prevent herself from being awakened like this, something about it being "very intrusive and rude". He's also surprised to wake up alone, the owner of the bed not in her usual place beside him, with her head resting on his chest. She was missing from her spot—and it made it easier to leave—but that defeated half of the purpose of this trip. Hibari missed Haru, and she took it upon herself to be missed again.

Karma had a weird way of fucking with him, he supposed, collecting his thoughts and motioning to get out of bed.

He strolled into the kitchen and found her there, her head in her hands, short black hair falling forward, covering her face like a mask. He heard sniffling, and a few hiccups coming from her place on the countertop, and he made no move to go towards her, staying silent in his place. He'd caught her crying once before her confession—when her father was murdered. Hibari distinctly remembered Haru blaming herself—he was the friendliest math teacher in the world with a mafia-related daughter. Of course, his life was nothing if it meant it could rattle the black market engineer. Back then, she shed a few tears upon hearing the news, and then pulled her composure back together. His murderers were found dead less than two weeks later, and the woman never walked around without her gun on her hip again. Later, when it was just the two of them in her small townhouse, she cried again, wailing and screaming into his chest for what seemed to be an eternity.

This was more like the former, tears streaming down her face and the occasional sniffle. A warning rain before the hurricane.

"I lost everything moving here," she said, her voice raspy, barely above a whisper. "Fucking everything, Kyoya." She looked up at his, her eyes red and wide, bloodshot.

"You didn—"

"Shut the fuck up and let me speak." There was a definitive silence that overtook the room, her red eyes bleeding through him with everything they had inside of her. She seethed, the anger leaking from inside her like a pot, filled to the brim with water and set to boil. "I thought I didn't have anything to lose if I left—I'd end our fucking game and it'd be over. But you're so fuckin' sadistic, you just had to bring that shit back."

"I fucking miss you, Miura," he said, confused.

"And I miss my fucking dad!" she just about screeched, clenching her fist. "But you don't see me going to his grave and giving him a reason to come back!"

"You expect me to act like you're dead?" Hibari just about yelled. "Do you know how stupid that sounds?"

"You didn't want me when I was alive!" Silence swoooped in and stole his tongue out of his mouth. Haru sat on the counter, angry and burning with an unmatched desire to scream, her body heaving with her breaths. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, before widening slightly. In a last fit of anger, Haru tossed her gun at him, the pink pistol sailing through the air before hitting a wall behind him. It missed him—wasn't even close—but they both knew that she was not aiming for him. She was angry, yes, but it was very rare for her to attack someone out of anger. She saved fights for people that she hated—and no matter how badly she wanted to, she was still a slave to the love game she found herself playing months before. Quietly, she confessed, "I had to have an abortion before I came out here."

The silence that came after was deadly. Haru sat on her counter, full of rage and spiteful, staring at him with the same intensity a deer had when it held an incoming car. It held a phsyical weight, and that weight put pressure on Hibari, breaking his shoulders and spine, crushing him into nothingness.

"Fucking say something," she quipped, her voice holding more exhaustion than anger.

"You," was all he could get out before he ran out of words. She looked ready to cry again, still and shaken, like a leaf in winter, knowing doom is imminent. "You didn't say anything?"

"You couldn't even stay a full night with me—"

"I didn't have time—"

"And you have time for a baby?" The response hit him like a stack of bricks, hard and without restraint. "Because I didn't. I have time now, but I have a target on my back and there's so much fucking money on my head I have half a mind to kill myself and collect it." He chuckled, in spite of himself. It was a dry giggle of a chuckle, but a chuckle all the same, and he found himself amused despite the series of events that led to where he is currently. He wad surprised to find her laughing too, a small smile forming on her face without her permission. She shook her head softly, her hair falling back in front of her face. "You told me to leave," she said, her brown eyes narrowing at him. "I only did what you told me to do, Kyoya. I'm working in a big fuckin' lab doing science shit with Verde instead of Tsuna's basement, not stressing you 'cause I have much bigger things to do, and none of it makes me happy. I cheated myself, once again. I knew I would, because that was eventually and you are everyone."

At this point, Hibari was fuming. His fingers clenched themselves into fist and he stood still, afraid if he moved he might lose everything that he came all this way for. "You still think that this is some game, Haru?"  There was an iciness to his tone, a lost sounding voice coming from inside him. "I made a mistake in letting you walk away—I made a mistake walking away from you as may times as I did."

"You knew what you were doing! I told you everything and you still wanted me to run away rather than play house with you." She looked on the counter and threw the nearest object she could find—a yellow coffee cup—at him, narrowly missing his head. Again, she wasn't trying to hit him, though she wouldn't mind if the cup grazed him. "Well, I'll be damned if I play house by myself—especially  when there's such a bad world outside of the fucking playroom."

"You don't have to be in that world—"

"It's too late for that, Kyoya," she said, wryly. "As soon as I step out that door, I'm as good as dead. Every meeting I go to, every luncheon I attend, every fucking business date I go on to sell my fucking work, I can lose my life." She looked at him up and down before continuing, "And if anyone thought it'd bother me, you'd already be dead. I didn't and don't want to lose my baby because of the way I pay my bills, Kyoya."

"We can do this," he said, confidently. Without hesitation, he walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, his steely grey eyes melting into her brown ones. "I'm not letting you walk away from me again."

When he walked into the building, a shock of pink hair greeted him. She was dressed in a bright blue dress, the middle sinched together with a brown belt, showing off a tiny waist. On her feet were white tennis shoes, ones meant for runnning. She was helping up a blonde-haired girl, the same age as she. "There you go, Ino-pig," she said, putting the girl in a chair. "Be good," she said, pointing to the girl. Her tone was serious, but gentle, the same tone he used when talking to his patients. If he hadn't known better, he would've thought that she was the same as he, a doctor tending to a patient. He would've liked to believe it, but the ink on the back of her neck told him different. She was a patient herself, a patient of this facility. She'd obviously had extensive education – or natural skill – in comforting and easing pains, for he felt his own self being swayed by her short words.

He never expected her to turn around so quickly, and he never expected for her to have the brightest eyes he's ever seen. They shone like emeralds, and reflected promise – of what, he wasn't sure. Sasuke could tell that this girl had potential to be something like him. What is she doing here? he thought, giving her a soft smile. "You must be the doctor," she said, her voice still soft. "Doctor Uchiha, if I'm correct."

"You are," he answered back smoothly. "You wouldn't happen to know where Father Kakashi is, do you?" he asked her, watching her smile. The twist of her pink lips made her whole face light up, and Sasuke noticed, but refused to be moved by it. Crazy girls are still crazy, even if they are pretty, he said in his head, watching her with a careful eye.

"Father Kakashi is the room in the back and towards the left," she said, pointing in the direction. Sasuke began to excuse himself when she grabbed his sleeve and added, "But I wouldn't trust him." Sasuke opened his mouth in confusion, but she spoke quickly and quietly. "This is a Catholic nut-house, Doctor. Everyone's mad here and I wouldn't trust what anyone says. Not the clergymen and not the patients." With that, she let him go and walked in the opposite direction, towards the blond girl sitting in the chair. "Be on your way," she said to him, not looking his way.

Following the girl's orders, Sasuke walked towards the back. He could vaguely hear a light hum to a song he'd almost forgotten. Throwing a longing, worn look towards the pair of women, he turned and walked where she'd told him, fighting her to be right.

.

.

.

repetition

It was during his first session that he learned the pink haired girl's name. The blond she was helping when he'd first arrived, Yamanaka Ino, spoke highly of her as she laid on the little black couch. With her dull blue eyes shining and white hands in the air, she said smiling, "I was a little bit lonely here, all by myself. I know that what I see isn't real, but really bad nightmares, thanks to Sakura. They aren't really there, you know. They're just night terrors you have when you're awake. I get really lonely, all by myself." While Sasuke jotted this down, she stopped smiling and cackled, before setlling her face into a light smile. Her laugh was loud and echoed through the makeshift office, repeating itself to itself. Ino seemed to take bright delight in this, for she did it three more times. "Sakura's really great, you know. She's smart and she's pretty and she's great. I used to be really lonely, all by myself, but Sakura makes sure that I'm never lonely. She's really pretty. She told me that man in green andthe woman in pink weren't going to hurt me. They're not real, Ino-pig. You can rest now, Ino-pig. Don't fret, Ino-pig. Be good, Ino-pig."

"So Sakura helped erase the people you see?" Sasuke asked, which made Ino shoot up from her seat. She stared at him with big, blue eyes, and narrowed them at him. With flared nostrils, she snorted at him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked him, suspiciously. She eye'd him up and down before leaping in front of his seat, grabbing onto the sides of his chair. "You're trying to take Sakura away from me, aren't you?!" she accused. "You can't take her away from me," she growled. "You can't make me lonely any more! You're not leaving me! She's not leaving me! YOU CAN'T TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME! SHE'S MINE! SHE'S MINE! SHE LOVES ME VERY MUCH! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!" she screamed. She pointed a finger towards his chest and screamed at him, "DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND, INO?!"

The next moment, her eyelids started drooping. She tried to give him one more menacing stare, but collapsed into Sasuke's lap, her head landing on his thikgh heavily. Begfore Sasuke could look up, a voice cut in, "I am so sorry for her behavior." Sasuke averted his deep brown eyes to look at the girl with pink hair and green eyes, and offered her a small smile. He took notice of her floral white dress and white gym shoes, not usual attire for anyone in a mental asylum. He also noticed the syringe in her hand – not that he commented on it. "She gets defensive when someone so much as mentions me. I guess you could call it jealousy, but she's confident that I love her," she said, bending down to pick the larger blonde up.

"She's afraid you'll leave her one day," Sasuke said, jotting what she said in his notebook. His voice was even and clear, even as he struggled to keep his eyes off of her. "She's obsessed with you," he said, licking his pen, "She thinks you're her savior or something like that." The pink haired woman giggled at this.

"I don't think it's wrong to like someone else, Doctor," she said, lying the woman on the couch and sitting next to her. She spoke easily and freely, as if the walls weren't meant to confine them to the room, to confidentiality. Conversation came easily with her, he noticed, and wrote that down on a seperate sheet of apaper, which he quickly labeled 'Sakura.' "We've all developed a crush on someone else at one point." She crossed one leg over the other and laughed through her pink lips. Her white teeth made Sasuke smile, but the scar under her neck made him shiver.

"This is more than a simple crush, Sakura," he warned, reclining in his chair. "She's here for a reason – Ino's dangerous. Crushes can be dangerous, you should keep yourself alert around her." Sakura cocked an eyebrow, and placed her elbows on her knee. He noticed the way her dress rode up a teensy bit, revealing more of her creamy thighs. A light smile graced her pink lips and she said something with her eyes, though Sasuke wasn''t good at non-verbal communication.

"Is that so?"

"It has to be," he responded quickly, causing her sit back. "Are you a doctor or a patient, Sakura?" he asked. Judging from the slight widening of the greenest eyes he'd ever seen, he caught her off-gaurd. He wasn't sure if this was a good thing, considering she could be completely insane. He wasn't sure what he was doing with her, but before he lets himself progress any further, he'd have to know.

"Would you believe me –" she'd started, but an opening of the heavy metal door scared her into silence. From that door emerged Father Kakashi, the head of the asylum. His silver hair stuck out at odd ends and his visable eye was lonesome, but Sasuke was sure that he had never met a more rightous man.

Sakura, on the other hand, was not so sure. His lone eye wandered across the room and settled on the pinkette, a small smile crossing his covered lips. "Well, if it isn't Little Lizzie!" he exclaimed, clapping a hand on Sakura's bare shoulder. The girl visably grimanced, and threw his hand off of her. Glancing around at Sasuke, he said, "I see you've done your duty and came for your own evaluation. It may do you some good, love."

"My name is not Lizzie," the girl growled under her breath, glaring at the man. "I was entertaining the company, t'is all. I don't need an 'evaluation', Father," she sneered at the man, huffing slightly. "I have all my senses, but I believe that you don't have yours." Sasuke looked over at the man, who remained impassive, yet amused.

"Your record says otherwise, Lizzie," he continued, much to Sasuke's confusion. Kakashi saw this, and chuckled at him. You poor, poor fool, he thought, looking at Sasuke with a slight sense of pity. Leaning against the doorframe, he continued, "You haven't read, Doctor?"

"This is a Catholic nut-house, Doctor! Everyone's mad here and I wouldn't trust what anyone says. Not the clergymen and not the patients!" Sakura yelled, her voice strained and angry. Her fingers clenched and unclenched, forming fists and open palms. Her floral dress seemed like more of an obstacle than a bright distraction and she was seeing the world in black and white – Doctor Uchiha was white and Father Kakashi was black.

"Sakura murdered her parents with an axe when she was thirteen. She's been stuck here since," Kakashi spoke evenly, sending a warning look to Sasuke. "Sakura's dangerous, Sasuke. She may seem sweet and cute, but it's an act. She's not stable and she's not reliable. Don't get attatched to a pretty face," he said, walking out.

Sakura sat still on the couch, playing with the hem of her dress. "I'm stable," she muttered, fiddling with it. "I'm stable." She closed her eyes and inhaled a breath and said it again, "I'm stable." She peeled her eyes open and looked into Sasuke's dark brown orbs. "I'm stable," she spoke, clearly. It was a promise, but to whom, she wasn't sure. Sasuke, on the other hand, wasn't as convinced.

"You're a patient?" he asked, slowly, tenatively.

"Yes," she said, only her lips moving. Her eyes were still locked with his, and every tilt of his head, she followed.

"Did you murder your parents?" he asked, equally as slow and equally as timid. Her green eyes followed him, and were still the greenest he'd ever seen. She licked her pink lips, prompting him to do the same. Her pink hair settled on her shoulder as she contemplated the right answer to his loaded question.

"No," she'd settled on. Sasuke released a breath he didn't know he was holding, and moved closer to her. She smiled at this action, all pink and white. "You're very beautiful, Doctor."

"As are you," he responded, his face a mere inch from hers. Her cheeks grew rosy as her eyelids closed.

"I've got a crush on you," she said, closing the distance between them briefly. It was a simple, quick gesture, a peck between two pairs of lips. Sweet and soft, but lacking in an aspect they both did not know. There weren't sparks, but she did feel a magnetic closeness between the two that they did feel. Green eyes looked into brown, but only saw her reflection staring back at her. She placed a small, tender hand on his chest and pushed him back, only slightly. "I'm stable," se whispered. "You're afraid," she swore.

"Should I be?" he asked, taking her hand in his, but not holding it. Sakura was a dangerous woman, according to Kakashi. She'd admitted to being a patient, and he knew that becoming attatched to someone who could have committed two acts of murder was certain death. Sakura was death, beautiful but quiet death. A poison or drug, something that chilled his nerves and made his heart beat just a little faster. Gorgeous, but deadly.

Femme fatale.

"I can't tell you that, Doctor," she said, smoothing her dress.

"And why not?" Sasuke demanded. He put his hands on her shoulders, watching her flinch ever so slightly. "You're an enigma."

"I wouldn't trust what anyone says. Not the clergymen and not the patients," she said, trailing softly. She stood and walked towards the door, smiling softly at him. "I'm a patient. Crushes can be dangerous, you should keep yourself alert around her," she said, with a light sniff.

"Wait—let me have three more words!" he said, grabbing her wrist. Sakura shook violently, but shook her head softly at him. I love you was all she heard when he opened his mouth. She turned and pressed another quick kiss to his lips, leaving him breathless.

That being said, she did not rest her head on his chest during the night her spent in her bed, despite every impulse telling her to do so. She did not let him drape his arm around her, despite wanting to feel his warmth on her. She did not face him, making his face the last memory of the day. No, this was a game she could never win, so she'd rather minimize her losses than play and lose everything. Instead, she turned over on her side and faced the window, letting the curtains be her last thought before falling into the emptiness of a loveless, dreamless sleep.

A loss of warmth woke her up the next day, and a slave to her desires, she found that she could never truly resist her impulses. Her body would never let her sleep with someone, sleep with him, without entangling him in her sticky webs, just for a moment. But the rules of the game state that she must wake up alone, and she did, for the body she knew—that beautiful boy who she could never have—left her, if only to go to the bathroom. Haru's big brown eyes looked towards the clock, seeing it to be fifteen minutes until four, the time he'd be walking out on her, anyway. A moment later, she heard the shower running, a sign that he was on his way out. It was so commonplace for him to sleepover and leave at dawn that he had a permanent drawer in her dresser, his toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom.

Well, if she were to lose the game, she would be a good sport, she thought, slinging her legs across the bed and rising. Grabbing her robe, she walked out of her room and towards the kitchen, bouncing to a song she only heard in her mind. It seemed to be a happy beat, for she had a pot of coffee on the stove too quickly for someone as depressed as she should have been. Maybe this was part of the game, she reasoned, grabbing two mugs and propping herself up on the counter. She knew that she was doomed to repeat the process of losing him, and whoever would come after, but she refused to be a sore loser. Maybe she was a terrible winner in another life and this was karma, so if she played well, the board would be even for next time around.

She spotted him coming down the hall, dressed and clean and ready to walk away from her. She stopped for a second, hesistating, then looked at the clock, seeing it was five minutes after the hour. When he reached the kitchen, he seemed surprised to find her awake and active, staring at him with big brown eyes and dressed in a yellow bathrobe. He snapped out of it a moment later, walking towards the door before she yelped, "Wait," in a timid, afraid voice. "S-Since you're leaving, you may as well have something, Hibari." A pregnant pause entered the room as she closed her tiny mouth, her brown eyes downcast and his slanted grey ones searching the room for any inclination as to where this behavior could have spawned from. Haru allowed a small laugh to break the silence, sliding off the counter and taking the pot off of the burner. "I don't know why I got so attatched to you," she said, pouring herself a mug, "when you don't do anything but come in and leave."

"I never said I would stay," Hibari spoke immediately, leaning on the wall. He seemed amused by the girl, sipping her coffee and speaking her mind without restraint. When she was like this was when he noticed her, unrestrained and uncensored, though she often switched to a quieter, more mouse-like creature.

"I know, all I could ever be to you is something comfortable, something we could both get accustomed to," she sighed, pouring the other mug. She handed it to him and sat back on the counter, knocking on the cupboard beside her, "Just in case you needed something sweet." She sipped hers, black and strong, and threw him a soft smile. He looked at her and smirked, walking over to the counter and throwing the cupboard open, taking the sugar jar out and pouring a hefty amount in. "I didn't take you for a sugar guy."

"Then why offer?"

"Because I was raised with manners." She watched him stir the drink until the white crystals all but disappeared, and then took a long drink. "I don't understand why I stress a man when there's much bigger things at hand," she admitted, looking at him with a hint of disdain. "If I didn't worry about you," she started, "I'd be working in Italy, under Verde. Doing some super science shit instead of being cramped in a basement, working on these damn rings for Tsunya." She took another sip and watched him, something she was always good at.

"Don't stress me," he said, "Go ahead and go to Italy."

"But then we couldn't have nice mornings like this."

"What is this?" he asked, his voice hazy. He didn't stop drinking, but he looked at her with those steely grey eyes, and she remembered why she stressed him—why she plays game of cat and mouse where she is both the cat and the mouse. Uncertainly, she took another sip and he looked away, backing away from the counter.

"This is my postponing of our inevitible conclusion," she said, looking directly at him. "I'm bad at love, and I'm just cheating myself again by playing this round with you."

"What are you saying?" he said, setting his mug down. He placed is arms on either side of her, trapping her on the counter and in his prescense without any resistance. Haru only stared at him blankly, knowing exactly where she was on the board. She was almost at the end, but some delay would cause her to double back and go around, all over again. It was a circle, a menacing cycle that ended in nothing but her heartbreak, and even though she tried to keep herself from feeling it this time.

"I'm saying that when you walk out that door, I'm going to go back to my room and lay on your side of the bed and cry. I'm saying that everytime you walk out that door, I lay on your side and cry. But I'm also saying that my tears dry on their own, I'd just prefer not to let them live in the first place." She threw the game, once again, preferring to quit before she was beaten. She couldn't remove her player from the board but she could show her opponent all of her cards and her strategy, and hopefully he would end it before it got painful. "It's your move," she said, sipping the last of her coffee and discarding it in the sink. "Honestly, I don't understand why you haven't walked away, yet."

"Do you want me to?" he asked, his voice confused but strong, not giving way to any other emotion other than confusion.

"Of course not," she started, "but I know you will. Everyone walks away, eventually."

"I'm not everyone, and this isn't eventually."

"Wha—"

The leaves were falling.

She was a brown girl, with brown girl eyes and brown girl hair, flattened to perfection with the help of ceramic plates. It fell to the small of her back when it was straightened, though you'd never know when she became a celebration. Here, her she had to pull that hair up into a bun, and not a single hair was to be out of place. That bun sat high above her head, almost like that cork, but if that cork was crafted out of silver and crystal. It shut the alcohol in, but at least it looked beautiful. To be a celebration was to be beautiful, picturesque—the object of the desires of men and the envy of women and that was what beauty meant. The brown girl was at a disadvantage due to being brown, with thin lips that were not thin enough and thick hair that was not thick enough and a small waist that was not small enough. But here, with her almost thick bun and edges smoothed down with gel and hair straghtened with heat, she could pretend she was enough. She could pretend that underneath her yellow tights that her legs, which burned so much, were a lighter shade of caramel, under her black leotard was a smaller waist, and her hair curled in a pattern like Shirley Temple's or did not curl at all. She could never pretend her lips were thicker or thinner, however. That was asking for too much.

The leaves were falling.

She seen them through a small window that let in little light. The flourescent lights overhead beamed down on her and every other girl in the studio, but she found herself attracted to the window. She was not a moth to a flame, but a butterfly to honey, fluttering silently towards sweetness while others watched in awe over something so primal, so natural. The sunlight beamed down from that little window relentessly, producing a small spot of heat everywhere it touched. It illuminated the dust in the air, those pesky floating particles that the brown girl pretended not to see. It highlighted the pink of the beam where her leg could, but never would, take a rest. It made Maria/Consuela/Tequila/Whatever, with her snow skin and brunnette hair that curled loosely, glow, though it seemed that her glow came from inside of her chest. She was a brown girl too, but she was pure, undiluted and unpolluted with anything other than pureness. Her brownness did not show in her skin, but on her brother and sister's skins, clay and a light mud, but she was snow. And she was perfect. She was beautiful and prim and proper and her pink tights did not have holes in them. Her lips were thick and full, but her smile was crooked. You see, she was beautiful but she was not a celebration. She was a date, an expensive date with a wealthy old man who'd spoil you if you smiled. She was every girl's fantasy, but that was all. She was a dream, a wish, a prayer you knew would never be answered. And the other brown girl would prefer to be a celebration, if you asked, thankyouverymuch. Though she would wish on a shooting star, if she ever saw one. If she ever felt envious, she blamed it on the cork at the top of her head, looking at that snowy-brown girl and knowing that she did not have one.

The leaves were falling.

A red one hit the yellowing grass, daintily resting on the top of the dead blades, almost like a comfortable sleep upon a bed of spikes. For a second, her brown eyes stared out that window, looking at that red leaf with such intensity, she scared herself. The leaf was ripped in a few places, muddled with black holes that was signal of sickness, death. That red leaf was dead, and it captured more of her attention now than while it lived. Her brown brain thought about that for a second, pondering the wonder and excitement of death versus the boring humdrum of life. Death caught her attention more than life did, and it held onto it with an iron grip. The finality of someone's demise plagued her mind often, inside of the studio and out. Her leg produced a fire so intense, it burned her soul. If she were to die right in that room, her instructors would care for her more than they did while she was alive. They would tend to her body with more tenderness than any of the words they threw at her, which sliced through her chest with an icy blade. They would hold her and praise her, like they did after a performance, where even though Tequila took the lead, she outdanced. The celebration often overwhelmed the date, but it was the date that everyone wanted to see. We live on prayers and dreams that we hope would get actualized, and when she dated, they were real. A celebration was a dime a dozen, she knew that. She knew that and she prayed that it was not true, but her prayers were never answered. She would die knowing that she was not one in a million, and feeling alienated, as if she was. She would die just like that leaf, red and beautiful and on a bed of spikes and dead grass that wasn't even fucking green. Life was fleeting, but not fleeting enough to capture her attention.

The leaves were falling.

And that damn cork broke. Her body ached and burned from being contorted and stretched so unnaturally, she collapsed. Her brown body in yellow and black hit the unforgiving wood with a loud thud, the quiet in the room shattering like someone's brains after a suicide. As the blood from the death hit the wall, she hit the floor. Ungraceful and disgraceful. Staring out of windows, daydreaming about death put another nail in her unmarked coffin, a little brown thing for those diluted, little, brown girls who wanted to go there but were stuck here. The celebration was put on a hold—the dj stopped playing music and the food was left in the oven to burn. And suddenly, brown and blue and green and grey eyes were upon her, seemingly the only girl in the mix. The cork broke and the champagne spilled all over the floor, attracting mutts and purebreeds alike. They were all dogs, come to feast upon her spills and feed on her insecurities that she worked so hard to mask. Maria walked over, small toes in pretty red slippers and asked, "¿Bien?" with that crooked ass smile and those thick, pretty lips. An outreached, dainty hand was pointed towards the brown girl, but was met with a sharp glare.

"Soy bien, huerra." And that was that. With a burning leg, the brown girl stood up again, and stretched the other one, stretching her runny yellow tights and smooth brown skin and strong pink muscles. The cork was placed back on the bottle.