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The bright orange of his hair is hard to dye, is what Asano Hotaru knows, staring into the mirror. His roots show quite a lot and often if he doesn’t keep up his routine, and the black washes out easily. The flaws of being a sickly kid, probably. Or not. He doesn’t really know and he doesn’t tend to wonder.
The color hides him, that is – the black. Orange brings attention, orange reminds him of red colored hair of his Mother’s – Yana Kaede. It serves as a reminder that wherever he goes, her legacy will follow. Times like this, he wishes he weren’t born at all.
He wishes he could disappear, sometimes.
He wishes—
Well. It never really mattered to anyone. What he wants, what he desires – all that is useless, all that is childlike and stupid and pathetic, and Kaede tells him so. She digs her nails into his arms to make him look at her, she holds his timid gaze with her own steel one and whispers:
“Look at you, who would you be without me?” she’d smile, and her other hand would caress his cheek, “With your hobbies occupying all of your time, do you think someone would even look twice at something even a child could do?”
Hotaru is no fool – he was born during summer, and his Father held his Mother’s hand; they’ve looked out of the window, a stray firefly flew in; a miracle, they’ve said, for they usually don’t appear in those sides.
He is no fool – for the light of a firefly they’ve named him after flickered out just as quickly as his Father’s eyes.
There is no escape, he thinks, picking on his hair, tugging at it and he looks at the ribs showing through his skin in the mirror, she will never let go of me, and I will never—
His phone chimes and he blinks. Time stops for just a second.
Right.
He turns around, wraps his hair in a towel and picks it up. There’s a sentence long message, right under the number he’s memorized by heart already. It hits him, suddenly, that oh. He’s not at Yana Kaede’s house. He’s not anywhere near her.
‘So? We still on for that movie night @ mine?’
This doesn’t feel real.
He can smell his Grandmother’s cooking downstairs. There are clothes in the wardrobe. There is his bag and his things all around the room, and there are no little foster kids running around the hallways.
Hotaru has his phone and no one is looking through it.
This isn’t real, he tells himself as he texts Shin—Hitoshi back. He glances in the mirror yet again, and feels oddly detached, it cannot be. And yet, as he stares at his pale face, the person in front of him doesn’t disappear.
*
“How are… things, there, I mean?”
Shinsou Hitoshi is a bit awkward, is what Hotaru knows. He hides behind deflection and jokes about the furniture trying to kill him. He smiles and doesn’t mean it. His hair, it’s a mess and Hotaru itches to smooth it down, to stroke it and smooth it down and—
Ah.
The question.
“It’s alright,” he answers quietly and Kei, who has taken a seat on his lap as soon as he sat down on the floor in front of the couch, meows up at him, “I haven’t been called a disappointment yet. I’d say that’s a big step up from—“ he trails off, thinks about what he was about to say, and sighs.
There is a hollow space in his heart. One he could never fill with friendships that fell apart on a whim, one he could never quite get rid of with food. There is hunger, but he’s beginning to understand that it is not for anything edible, but for something no one would be ever willing to give him.
His Grandmother, she is not—
She is not—bad. Her teeth are crooked and she looks at him like he’s a bug begging to be stepped on. Her hands, when they hold things, they shake and tremble. She’d old, Hotaru thinks to himself, and Death seems like a good friend of hers.
He’s gotten used to the cold. He’d gotten used to the dead-eyed gaze, to the emptiness that follows him everywhere.
‘That boy, that pit-spawned child, he’s turning you against me, isn’t he?’ Kaede would sneer and lean down to face him, ‘Don’t you dare turn your back on me, Hotaru. I am—‘
Hotaru is, after all, no fool.
But—
“Thanks,” he says before Hitoshi can second-guess himself, “for worrying, but I’m fine. I’ve dealt with worse than her.”
“That doesn’t mean you should, though,” Hitoshi mutters out, but gets the hint and drops the topic. A part of him is disappointed because of it, that one part of him that can never quite understand that he’s meant to be alone, meant to be isolated and he should not want any closer contact.
But—
But Shinsou Hitoshi, with his bright eyes that abandoned their dullness, he’s like a sun and Hotaru is no fool, really, but he is stupid and he is naïve and he is drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He knows he will come to regret. He knows it will end. Nothing good ever lasts for someone like him.
“Oh, yeah, Yamada-san told me we can use his subscription, so basically we have access to all the movies. What do you want to watch first?”
‘You’re worth nothing, boy,’ Kaede sneers in his mind and he flicks his eyes down, before looking away to stare at the screen.
“Whatever you think is good. I’m fine with whatever.”
You should rot away in a cell with me, Kaede would also say and Hotaru would nod to agree without hesitation, because there’s nothing to be gained from disobeying or disagreeing. The quiet resignation building up and up in his chest is familiar as he settles against the pillows. The burn of Hitoshi’s shoulder against his own skin is scalding, but it’s nothing new.
I will lose all of it, he thinks as Hitoshi sets up some Ghibli movie on the screen, and she will be laughing.
Well.
He flutters his eyes shut.
That would be nothing new, would it, now.
Things don’t go back to normal as fast as Hotaru would like them to. Midnight – Kayama Nemuri – their homeroom teacher, she doesn’t stop glancing at him. Hitoshi pretends to not notice and Hotaru finds himself doing the same, but when the hours drag on and Hotaru sluggishly wakes up from his nap, Midnight is still there; still watching.
I am not worth nearly as much as him, Hotaru thinks to himself when Midnight strikes up a conversation with Hitoshi at the end of the day. Never was, and never will.
Love, friendship and hate – those are funny concepts, because while Hotaru may understand the logic behind them, he can’t really imagine himself getting the first two without the third getting in the way and destroying everything.
‘You ruin the good things’ Kaede said. He listens to her more than he would admit. It’s because she’s permanently stuck in his head, going in circles when he least expects her to be. And he was never great at standing up to himself, he rarely felt the need to, and—
“You okay?”
Ah.
He shakes himself. Inside and outside. Watches as Hitoshi fixes the bag on his shoulder and longingly gazes at the gesture and thinks: I don’t remember the last time I’ve been hugged with warmth. It’s a thought totally unrelated to the situation – he doesn’t even know why it would form – but it’s a thought that clings to him like wet clothes.
Because Hitoshi shouldn’t bother with him; because Hotaru will suck up his warmth, his light and then only bones will remain.
“Totally,” is what Hotaru says, a bit out of his element when Hitoshi narrows his eyes, “What? Am I not allowed?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Well, that’s what it looks like.”
The banter feels familiar. Grounding. Hotaru would give up everything to finally think to himself and tell himself that it’s fine, he’s allowed to feel good and safe; Hitoshi is there, he’s safe and Hotaru should be happy for him, should be smiling more and yet—
Yet—
Invisible nails dig into his forearms. Hotaru is still, he always is because he’s learned quite quickly that reacting makes things more painful and he should know better anyways, but there’s a noticeable twitch of his arm that Hitoshi catches just as fast.
Hotaru wants to be out of his skin. But.
Hitoshi reaches out and grasps it. The burn that follows finally startles Hotaru enough to make him look back up at him. He hasn’t even realized that he’s dropped his gaze to the floor.
“Want to come over?”
“Should you be offering so freely?”
“They’re okay as long as I send a notice,” he says and his voice is steady, it’s sure – this is a change that is the most pleasant to see, “So?”
He wants to.
Oh, he wants to. If he could choose, Hotaru would remain forever by Hitoshi’s side. It’s warm and it feels safe. He spends most of his days alone, he goes back home and his Grandmother looks at him like he’s a painful sight to her, then at school he’s constantly making himself sick from worrying about passing the grade.
It’s only when Hitoshi is around that Hotaru’s mind shuts up.
“I would be imposing,” slips out before he can stop. It’s enough to make Hitoshi give him the Look.
“We can hang out in my room.”
Hotaru doesn’t understand the kindness he’s given. Kaede has said time and time before that the only people being kind to him are the people wanting to use him, and that she’s the only one who could ever love him and not take advantage of his sensitive nature.
Ha!
Ha, ha. Funny. Isn’t it? Isn’t it the funniest thing ever?
“Whatever,” Hotaru’s shoulders slump. He closes his eyes like the world is being too much for him for a brief moment, then opens them, “Whatever you want.”
Hitoshi grins. That, too, is a nice change. This smile is not fabricated and fake. Hitoshi really looks that happy just being able to hang out with him. Like Hotaru is worth something more than a passing glance.
Hotaru closes his eyes again.
A moth to a flame. How fitting. Hotaru really could only be compared to a little flying insect.
Hitoshi has left him to die.
He did! Hotaru is not exaggerating! He would never.
“Asano-kun,” Yamada’s voice is a little quieter than it usually is. Hotaru is too used to his radio voice to not flinch away, even if it could barely be called a flinch. He’s trained his body so much that the only unconscious movement he can make is a twitch, “How is the tea?”
Hotaru loves tea. His dad loved it, and when he was still alive they made it a tradition to make a pot, bring it outside to their – old, battered, but comfortable – arbor in the small garden. They’d drink in silence. Kaede would stay inside, preferring to be out of the way – she never liked the garden, and not that he thinks about it, she probably hadn’t liked his dad all that much, either.
Those were the moments that felt stolen. His dad is gone. Kaede is—She—
Now, Hitoshi went somewhere to the back of the house with Aizawa. Some urgent matter that couldn’t wait and Hotaru is too much of a coward to even let Hitoshi feel how much the thought of him leaving them alone terrified him. And the tea was bringing up memories, because Hitoshi’s presence was not there to keep Hotaru’s mind quiet.
And Yamada was—is—
“This is not the simple kind of tea, is it?” he asks, already knowing the answer. Hotaru knows how the cheap, not even tasting like anything, tea smells like and how it settles into his stomach. This, it not it, “Feels pricey.”
Yamada huffs a laughter, Hotaru still holds himself still, “It was a gift from your homeroom teacher. Nemuri likes that kind of stuff.”
“Ah,” he takes another sip. It tastes like lavender. It tastes like home, “I like it.”
“I’m glad,” Yamada says and somehow, it feels genuine. Hotaru remains suspicious, but it no longer looks like he’s planning escape routes at the mare thought of staying with the man alone for more than two minutes, “Say, Asano-kun, I heard you made a lot of improvement in your English class. Are you self-taught, too?”
Hitoshi is—ah. Right. Of course.
“My dad...” Hotaru swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, his chest tightens and he tries to breathe, but the words don’t come after that. The lavender, Yamada’s kind voice and faded memories of his dad taking the same interest in his education, it all chokes him up. He feels like he’s on the stage. He feels like he needs to act.
‘Others will use your words against you,’ Kaede says in his mind.
He yells in his head. He bangs his hands, desperately, against the invisible wall between him and the outside world. He needs to scream, he needs to get angry and let it out. Instead, it festers inside of him. Rots like bad food.
No one ever used them against me! No one! Only you! Only you would—!
“Asano-kun?” Yamada’s voice is concerned. Hotaru doesn’t look at him.
Then.
He breathes out.
“He liked. English. My dad, I mean,” his hands tremble. He grips the cup of tea tighter, the still-hot ceramic burns his skin. He lets it, “He read to me. Told me stories. Read comics. Stuff like that.”
His words are short. Like he’s listing off the facts that he knows about the person. Like a Wikipedia page. How much more pathetic can he get?
He sips on the tea.
“He must have been a great guy,” Yamada says, and it feels cruel to listen to that – because his dad is gone, the tea meetings in the arbor are a dim, fading memory that feels more like fever dream with each day, and Kaede laughs and laughs and laughs in his head—
There’s a thudding noise in the background. Finally, Hitoshi emerges from the back of the house, Aizawa in tow, and Hotaru is not alone anymore.
He breathes out. Once, twice. Deep, like he’s taught himself.
His fingers unclench from the cup.
“Never again,” Hitoshi says as he moves to sit next to him, “It was so dusty in there.”
“Mhm. You were the only one who could fit in there,” Aizawa tells him, moving to the kitchen. Hotaru latches onto Hitoshi’s sleeve almost unconsciously as he moves, “Thank you.”
Hitoshi is taken aback by the kindness, too. He tries not to show the surprise. Tries to act tough like he doesn’t need others to be nice to him, but Hotaru sees it, and Yamada and Aizawa do, too. They ignore it for his sake.
No one wants to bring out the bad stuff into the light, anyways.
“No problem,” is what Hitoshi manages, and just like that, the world goes on, the Earth turns and Hotaru’s mind is quiet.
He closes his eyes.
He falls sick easily.
He’s been nerfed by the world, because obviously, if he weren’t so weak, he’d become a great person doing great things. And that cannot stand. So Hotaru takes care to wear thick layers during winter and he doesn’t go out much in case someone else infects him with something. He keeps taking those overrated vitamins even though buying them became more of a chore than anything, and he eats healthy – as much as it can be called that, with the amount of food he can fit in his stomach.
And yet—
“You sound awful,” Hitoshi comments over his shoulder. It speaks volumes of how ill Hotaru is that he didn’t even hear him come over until he was already that close. Horrible. Being sick is horribly horrible. “Did you get sick?”
Of course, I did. Why wouldn’t I?
Hotaru lifts his head just enough so Hitoshi can hear him, and rasps out, “What gave me away?”
Hitoshi downright winces, “You didn’t show me any cat videos yet,” Hotaru snorts but seeing as it irritates his throat, he cuts himself off early. “And also, your voice is scratchy.”
“Awesome.” Hotaru says, totally honest.
If he sounds awful, it will mean teachers will call on him less. This is a valid excuse Hotaru is prepared to overuse to the best of his abilities. What did Kayama say anyway? That you have to make the most out of the terrible conditions you were put into.
This is perfect practice.
Hitoshi gives him another look, “Maybe get Recovery Girl to look after it?”
Hotaru drops his head back down onto his arms and closes his eyes, “She will just send me home.”
“Wouldn’t that be better?”
“Nah.”
Truth be told, bed sounds really nice, but Hotaru can fall asleep in all places. He once took a nap under the teacher’s desk and wasn’t discovered. In desperate times, he even shut his eye on the bench in a park (not the best idea, anyone can get you there), so he thinks himself an expert in that matter.
Still.
Bed—
Yes. Bed sounds lovely, but—
“Are you going to sleep?” Hitoshi’s amused voice filters in, and Hotaru just nods, half lucid anyways. Maybe being sick wasn’t as bad. Maybe it will actually improve his eye bags? Don’t sick people sleep more, after all?
Being sick does not improve the quality of sleep, Hotaru finds out soon enough.
He feels scammed.
This is outrageous. How could a sickness that renders one immobile and miserable and tired all the time just not make sleep easier? Where’s the logic in that? None! There’s just no reason for things to go this way and Hotaru is bitter.
“Dearie, you’re in for a week of rest, at most,” Recovery Girl said when Hitoshi brought him over to the infirmary, “Don’t even think of coming to school, or else I will know.”
It’s safe to say that Hotaru is not in the best of moods when the school lets out and he hesitates at the gate.
Because what’s the point of staying in?
He’s not going to get taken care of. He’s not going to be coddled or even looked on with pity. His Grandmother doesn’t take kindly to any sign of allergy, let alone a sign of a runny nose and scratchy nose. There’s just no way Hotaru will feel any better confined to the four walls in her house. At best, she will ignore him. At worst, she will—
He clenches his hands into fists and digs his nails into the skin, hard.
He scowls to himself.
What does it matter? He thinks to himself, angry. I will just not think about it.
But then—
“Are you going home?”
Hotaru stiffens. It’s an instinct at this point, but there’s no helping it. He just slumps his shoulders even more and turns around, almost immediately regretting his haste in doing so – it makes his head hurt. This really is a scam, he confirms with himself.
Hitoshi is standing by the gate, too. For a moment, Hotaru feels like he’s being taken apart in order to be understood. He’s reminded of all the times when he’s taken a broken device and opened it to fix it. He doesn’t know if he likes it.
“I’m not risking Recovery Girl’s wrath,” he admits, reluctant. He wishes Hitoshi hadn’t felt the need to escort him to her office himself, “I heard stories of those who opposed her.”
Hitoshi blinks, “What happened to them?”
“I don’t know. They disappeared.”
More blinking. Then, Hitoshi’s lips twist into a faint, amused smile and he moves forwards to stand closer to him. It makes Hotaru all more aware of his presence. It makes him, painfully, acknowledge that his Hitoshi is happy and he frowns less and less. That’s dangerous for Hotaru’s heart.
“Right,” Hitoshi murmurs, then clears his throat, “Will you be okay?”
There’s a hidden meaning in those words.
And Hotaru, he—
He is tempted to laugh it off. To say that it’s fine and he’s used to it. He even considers telling Hitoshi that his Grandmother is like all other grandmothers who dote on their grandchildren and the only fear Hotaru has is that she’s going to overfeed him some ancient recipe with questionable ingredients.
He opens his mouth to say all that. He takes a step, wobbling one and tries, really tries, but his words are cut off by his own mind.
Will it make me a liar? Like her?
Hotaru’s Grandmother doesn’t like him much. She never did. Even when he was younger, she stares at him with distaste. You could wonder how someone so hateful and prejudiced could ever have any kids and raise them without them turning the same. So how could he ever say that he will be okay going back to her house?
He’s not.
It’s the best of two evils but Hotaru despises it with passion.
His head shakes, almost as if he weren’t in control of it, and he looks away. Hitoshi’s attention is unbearable. Hotaru really can’t think straight when he’s around.
Wind picks up a bit. Just enough to be noticeable. Hotaru sniffs, irritated.
“Can I—“ Hitoshi hesitates, then starts again, “Can I help, somehow?”
Ah.
Hotaru takes pity on him, “I don’t think there’s anything to be done. Unless you have some secret relative willing to take me in for a week so I don’t die from the lack of medicine.”
Can he, actually, die from that? He doesn’t know. Perhaps that is possible or maybe he’s just being dramatic. Case in point – Hotaru doesn’t see a solution, he only sees the routine of coming back to his Grandmother’s house and keeping himself isolated in his room. In a way, if he looks at it positively, it doesn’t even sound that bad. Maybe he can catch up on his comics, too.
But then—
“Lack of medicine?”
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
Hitoshi also stills, but it’s only for a second, before he’s looking over his shoulder to greet Kayama – as she insisted to be called; something about keeping her name and her hero name separate – as if nothing was wrong, as if Hotaru didn’t just say something he wasn’t supposed to say. Because, after all, what kind of household doesn’t have medicine? Even the worst off families will have at least a simple syrup for a cough or a painkiller. The lack of medicine put in that sentence will set off alarm bells for anyone.
And unsurprisingly, he’s right.
“Asano-kun, I know the situation you were put in is difficult,” Kayama starts saying, looking a bit awkward when Hotaru levels her with a deadpan gaze, “but if there is anything I can do, or the school can do, to help, you should say so.”
It all boils down to it.
‘You should say so’ and ‘you should speak up’ and all other variation of it that put the burden of asking for help on his shoulders. Maybe he doesn’t know how! Maybe he doesn’t know if the situation he’s in even validates that kind of help! Maybe he’s just plainly scared! Sensei, if you’re going to say something like this, at least give some details as to what kind of situation you think he’s in!
He holds it all in.
“I just mean that we ran out of it,” he says, hoarse. He winces and swallows couple of times. “I have to buy some.”
Yeah. You and what allowance?
Hotaru glares at the ground.
Maybe if Kaede didn’t take all of it—
Hitoshi frowns. Kayama also shifts in her place.
This is just uncomfortable, at his point Hotaru really considers just running away.
“I can take you,” Hitoshi suddenly offers and rummages into his pockets. Something you should definitely not do in front of a concerned teacher, because it will set even more alarm bells in their heads, Hitoshi what the heck—! “It’s no problem.”
This is not the point!
Hotaru finally looks at Kayama instead of her shoes and tries to hold her gaze. Maybe if he does it long enough it will look like he’s innocent and there’s really nothing wrong. He’s done it plenty of times before after all! But just as he locks his eyes with hers, he freezes.
“It’s okay, I will take him,” she tells him and the weight of her words makes Hotaru sag as if someone just took of some weight of his shoulders. Which is definitely not what he should be feeling right now, but he runs with it, because his head decides it’s the perfect moment to remind him that he’s in pain, “I saw Aizawa looking for you.”
Hitoshi looks surprised, but then he nods. Before he goes back the way he came from, he waves at Hotaru and tells him that he’s going to text him later. The reality of having a friend check up on you is already a shocking revelation, but the reality of having a teacher and a trusted role model caring for you is another one that almost takes him out like a well-aimed snowball.
“Let’s go, Asano-kun,” Kayama says as she fishes out the keys to her car. And really.
What is Hotaru supposed to do?
Refuse?
So he follows after her, sluggish and tired, and tries to tell himself that nothing is going to kill him just for letting someone show some kind of worry over him.
Kayama’s apartment is really nice, don’t get him wrong, it’s just that Hotaru as her student was never supposed to set a foot in there. Ever. There’s a really thick line between the relationship a teacher can have with their pupils and as someone who was always on the receiving end of the teacher’s whims and terrible moods, Hotaru expected to never cross it. How weird life can become when you suddenly defy the odds, huh?
His skin is pulled taunt when he crosses the threshold of her place and he’s reluctant to take off his jacket. He does so when she gives him a questioning look, but it school uniform makes him feel incredibly bare. He half wishes he took a change of clothes with him, all to dress more comfortable, but he doesn’t ponder on that for long before Kayama is throwing something at him.
It’s only because Hotaru is close with Hatsume that he manages to catch it before it hits him square in the face.
“Something loose for you,” Kayama explains when Hotaru blinks, unfolding the clothes in his hands, “I know it’s not much, but it wouldn’t feel right otherwise.”
Is that so?
Hotaru really doesn’t know what’s happening.
First, he expected her to trail after him to the pharmacy (he’d make up some lie that he forgot his money at home) and maybe ask some other questions about his life. It wouldn’t be a bad idea and maybe she would actually stop staring at him during class like he’s going to drop dead any second. But when they got into her small car and Hotaru looked out the window to direct her if necessary, Kayama took another route through town, one that entirely avoided said pharmacy.
If Hotaru didn’t trust her, he would say she tried to kidnap him, here and there.
Then, when it was clear that she’s not driving him so he can get some medicine, he asked her what’s going on and she just replied that he looked really, really terrible and she wouldn’t feel good sending him home or to the pharmacy alone. And although she probably didn’t mean anything by that, Hotaru’s heart still stuttered when he realized that it means she does know he’s living with his Grandmother and she does know that he wouldn’t be cared for there. After all, his Grandmother’s duty to him is limited to seeing him fed and clothed from time to time.
That’s how he ended up here.
Still, he feels the need to inform her that if she doesn’t call his Grandmother, that old lady will most likely call the police and report him missing. Probably glad to be rid of him, but it would cause unnecessary trouble nonetheless.
To which Kayama nods, all serious, “I will do that right away.” And then she just points him to the bathroom so he can change and that’s all. That’s all she does and there’s really no catch there, nothing that Hotaru can find suspicious or worth noting as danger.
It seems to him, that maybe she changed after what happened with Hitoshi, too.
Hotaru isn’t a fool, but he is drawn to each flame like a moth nonetheless. No matter how many times he gets burned, he gets closer anyways. It’s like an annoying habit you cannot break out of. It’s not like he hasn’t tried. At the beginning of the year, he did promise himself that he will keep away from most people to spare himself the pain of connecting with someone and then loosing them.
Sometimes, however, life has other plans for you.
Kayama was supposed to be another hero Hotaru had plans to avoid. It wasn’t anything personal, really. There were similar plans to avoid Present Mic and Eraserhead and All Might, and all other teachers to limit their interactions to the bare minimum. But then, Hotaru found out this:
Kaede has never spoken to Kayama.
The R-rated heroine, Midnight, has never even stepped a foot in the office of one Yana Kaede and that means Kayama Nemuri has absolutely no connections to Hotaru’s mother and vice versa.
And so—
“I have to admit that I never thought twice about my costume design,” Kayama is saying as she shovels spoonful of ice-cream one after another, “I mean, I did have to, at some point. I wanted to make a statement. But in the end, there were really few designers willing to create something functional and nice, so I stick to one version right now.”
And Hotaru knows, because early Midnight hero costume rose quite few controversies. A lot of forums argued that she should be able to wear what she wants and make the most of what she’s given, but there was a lot of comments that said she’s not fit to be a hero if all she can do is flaunt her breasts and hope for the best. It sparked a lot of discussions as to what could be changed in the costume and what should stay.
In the end, does anyone actually know what Midnight the hero needs? Are they the ones with the quirk? Are they the ones who had to grow up in a certain way, like she did, and can they actually say that the way they want her to dress is the way that will ensure she’s safe when it comes to blows?
Hotaru gave it a lot of thought in his early days in class C.
Kayama’s quirk, Somnambulist, lets her put targets to sleep by exuding a sleep-inducing aroma from her skin. For legal reasons, she was forced to wear a bodysuit to counter her provocative costume, which could hinder the effectiveness of her quirk (duh), and she stated so many times in various interviews.
And so—
“Wouldn’t it be easier to wear something shorter with a crop top?” He wonders out loud, munching on something he thinks was supposed to be a cookie but could as well be dry dough with its texture, “If your quirk effect mixes with your sweat, Sensei, then even a crop top without sleeves would do. Since the armpits are where the sweat gathers the most.”
Kayama pauses in her eating.
Hotaru continues to muse to himself, “Ah, the top could be reinforced as well. Like a bulletproof layer in the material. Although the tummy would still be exposed to any kind of damage,” he frowns to himself, “Not like it isn’t now, though…”
She keeps staring at him.
Hotaru blinks and swallows the cookie inside of his mouth, briefly wincing at its aftertaste, “I still think shorts would be better than a leotard. Unless you pair a leotard with shorts.”
“Asano-kun…”
“I mean. Shorts can have pockets. Emergency rations or a even small knife. Spare stuff to use during a battle,” he sighs, “I think Hatsume even had small grenades in the working…”
“Asano-kun,” Kayama says, louder and this time, Hotaru glances at her, eyes tired, “Have you thought about my costume a lot?”
Suddenly realizing how his musings could sound to a person, Hotaru flushes deep red and starts flailing his hands around, shaking his head. His mouth spews out rapid series of ‘no, no, no’ in a way that is totally not believable and he sinks even more into the couch he’s sitting on.
He regrets speaking.
“Not like this,” he insists, embarrassed, “I swear. Kayama-sensei, that’s not like you think. It’s—it’s just—“
His tongue keeps twisting and tangling. Shame burns his gut brightly and Hotaru has to force himself to remain calm as his mother’s voice rings out in his head. The same mocking comments she liked to give him echoed there and brought his confidence even lower.
It’s all because of the medicine Kayama got him. He’s sure of it.
“Hatsume… Hatsume, ah!” Kayama snaps her fingers in a sudden realization, not reacting much to his ramblings earlier, “The Support girl! The one who explodes our labs so often!”
Hotaru only nods, a bit confused.
Kayama smiles at him, “I do seem to remember Power Loader saying that you started to hang around with her after school. Are you two friends?”
More like, partners in crime – crime being explosives put into almost every gadget she thinks of.
“I guess so.”
“I appreciate her youthfulness,” she admits, “because it’s very rare to see someone display it so carelessly. It’s another kind of bravery that I adore in people like her.”
“Maybe,” Hotaru allows, trying to un-tense, “I don’t know many like her.”
“Is that why you two hang out?”
He wonders about that.
Hatsume doesn’t care much for the opinion others have about her. She only worries about the state her devices are in; the weak and strong sides of designing something that could be used as a saving grace or a weapon of mass destruction. The power people like her hold – the creation of things some other people can only widen their eyes at and never comprehend – it’s immeasurable. She is limited only by herself; no one else dares to tell her she’s doing things wrong.
In a way, Hotaru envies her.
Her ability to create. Her ability to inspire.
Her own little world, within a reach of her hand.
“She’s the only one who didn’t look down on me,” Hotaru finds himself saying. Many others have said that Hotaru is a coward and a fool; letting his mother’s connections interfere with his own decisions and career, not training his own quirk and not making an active effort to break free out of the cage she put him in. Only Hatsume saw him in the threshold and dared to not make assumptions, and it’s something Hotaru admires about her the most. “She never let anyone—“
He cuts himself off.
Yes. He guesses that a lot of his reasons for sticking with someone as out-going as Hatsume are selfish. And yet—
“Sensei,” Hotaru’s voice is meek and quiet. Kayama immediately pays more attention to him, and that alone is enough to make Hotaru feel more vulnerable, more open. “Do you know how it’s like to be lonely with your family?”
Kayama keeps quiet at that, studying him.
Hotaru continues, “I know the police has told you about my mom, Sensei. And I know that Hitoshi has told the police what she can do with her quirk. It’s impossible that you wouldn’t connect the two of them together.”
“Your… mother,” Kayama picks up, steady, “was silver-tongued fox, who used her position in the hero industry to manipulate many unfortunate souls into deals they never wanted to make.”
Hotaru nods.
“She…” here, she hesitates briefly, “…hurt a lot of people, just by saying things they never wanted acknowledged, in a way that didn’t allow them to heal and made them dependent on her.”
He closes his eyes.
“And she was the person you were supposed to trust the most.”
“Doesn’t that make me the worst son ever, then?” He asks, almost idly. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, tiredly breathing in and out, “I never hesitated when they asked me about her. I never hid that she did bad things. I never took her side. Isn’t that the worst?”
“I think,” Kayama whispers, “that it wasn’t you that failed her. I think it’s her that failed to do her job properly.”
Ah.
Hotaru feels the warmth in his chest spread through his limbs, fast as river stream, and he nuzzles into his place on the couch more. He wonders if he’s getting a fever, if that’s why everything feels as if it was stuck behind a fog. He’s lulled by the sound of Kayama’s calm breathing, the gentle scent of the house and the soft texture of the clothes he was given.
He mulls over her words again. He doesn’t even get angry at her saying that Kaede was a bad mother.
Because she was. She is. And Hotaru—
“Sensei,” he whispers, not daring to look, “is it wrong that I hate her?”
There’s a beat of stillness in which Hotaru’s heart tries to rearrange itself into something intact and whole. A while of wondering if Kayama will actually prove to be a one dimensional person most people portrayed her as.
It only lasted a bit.
And he never had to question her again.
“No, Asano-kun,” she answers, soft, “it isn’t.”
He smiles, weak. Opens his eyes, just a little bit, just enough to see her expression – the mixture of deep regret and understanding. For a moment, Hotaru wondered who made her this way; who raised her in a way that made her guard herself with her body, who made her words sharp and who was the cause of her wanting to be a hero.
He realizes, soon after, that it doesn’t matter.
Her past isn’t Hotaru’s to know. It belongs to her only.
“Thank you, Kayama-sensei.”
After all, it is her present that let Hotaru trust and heal. And for that, he will be forever grateful.
“Are you sure it’s fine?”
“I literally made those for you.”
“They aren’t going to explode?”
“It’s tested, approved, and safe,” Hotaru rolls his eyes, “What, do you think I’d blow you up?”
Hitoshi looks at him, full of doubt as he says, “Not you, but that pyromaniac Hatsume?” Even so, he doesn’t take of the bracelets Hotaru gave him and instead, he inspects them in the faint light streaming in from the window of the gym Hitoshi recently cleaned up. At first glance, someone will mistake it as an accessory, and that is obviously the point, but still, Hotaru worries that maybe it will appear not cool enough for someone like Hitoshi. It’s a stupid worry, but he can’t really help it.
“It has Power Loader’s seal of approval,” Hotaru tells him, proud.
This time, Hitoshi does look up at him. Hotaru kind of regrets bragging about it, but really, who can blame him? He spent so much time on this! He stayed up night after night to make it right! Poured himself over it so many times with Hatsume to make sure it would almost never malfunction! This is something big!
After his mother—
After Kaede—said that he could never amount to anything with his creations, Hotaru has been skeptical, sticking only to things he could improve. All of it already has a foundation somewhere there, but this? This is something no one thought to do before and Hotaru, well—
It feels good. To craft and repair with your own hands. To gift it to someone.
“Ah, good job, good job,” Hitoshi says, sincere. It makes something hot run down Hotaru’s back, “Did you call them web shooters after all?”
“How else would I call them?”
“I don’t know. Something-something something-creative. You’re the mastermind here.”
“Ah. Ha. Ha.”
Hitoshi raises one of his hands up and aims it, “That was sarcastic.”
“It was not!” Hotaru says, indignant, “I was just being honest!”
“Sure,” he drawls out, “Whatever you say.”
They do end up testing the web-shooters out. In reality, it shouldn’t be something big – even if Hotaru worked hard on it and Hitoshi accepted it with no questions asked – but the pride he felt and the raw emotion he has yet to identify threatens to rip him apart. During his time in UA, he never thought there would come a moment like this. Even after he got to know Hitoshi and shared his sketches with him, it was all a passing dream he’d never achieve because of Kaede’s constant vigilance.
He was supposed to keep that paper with the project in the drawer. Make it gather dust and then throw it away when he feels like it gathered enough.
There was never a dream so bold as to assume Asano Hotaru would be alive to realize it.
“Hey,” Hitoshi starts after they gather their things, web-shooters safely put in their box and tucked under his arm, “are you alright?”
It’s a question out of blue, and for a short while, Hotaru doesn’t know what to do with himself. Does he smile and say yes? Does he mention what happened with Kayama in her home and how her presence affected Hotaru’s existence? Is Hitoshi even alluding to what Hotaru thinks he’s alluding to? Should he try and explain or ask to specify what Hitoshi is asking him about?
Then, he realizes, slumping his shoulders.
Hitoshi isn’t looking for a straightforward answer. He never has been. The world they lived in didn’t obey by the rules of society and there’s no need to pretend otherwise.
He reaches out his hand and wraps his fingers around Hitoshi’s sleeve, tight.
“It’s a work in progress,” he tells him, at last.
This is real, he thinks, almost in awe when Hitoshi glances at him, look understanding.
It can be real, if I want it to.