microwave
x.1

The wait on the train seems unbearable. The smell, the people pressed up against her, she's eighty percent sure some dude has a B.O centered quirk if the smell is anything to talk about. It makes her recoil back and flare her nostrils. She rechecks the texts between herself and Yuta.

Vivichu:
Metal or plastic

Bugboy:
Yes.

The dim light from the screen burns her eyes and adds a special kind of heaviness to her lids, almost as if they're attached to weights. She rubs at them sharply. Colors dance wildly across her vision.

Jamie really must be an idiot after all.

Irritation crawls underneath her skin like fire ants, like a sickly thick substance was running through her veins, burning hot. A certain tenseness burrowes in her skull, cringing and desperate to lash out.

But no, she reminds herself, that's not what good people do, remember?

She clenches her fists and aggressively shoves her phone into her jacket. Her own impatience is bound to be the death of her.

That's why it's a relief when the train finally stops and the doors open to sweet, sweet freedom. Her new headache seems to ease a bit, ebbing back into a soft silence. The perfect sound of the wheels shrieking to a stop, the metal doors opening with a hiss, would forever be associated with happiness from this point on.

Vivian makes a bolt for it, weaving her way through the masses of people. Metal or plastic, she had said. Metal or plastic and Yuta had said yes of all things. She sprints faster.

Her feet pound against the concrete as she runs past buildings upon buildings, and God, she just needs to get a ride already.

The neighborhood she lives in is a dark place with a constant smell of something she could never quite but her finger on. Rain-rotted roofs drooped dangerously over the top of their porches, chickweeds decorate yards in abundance. The dead neon lights struggled to hang from their store windows, cracked sidewalks were donned in cigarette butts and chewed gum, and brightly colored buildings didn't seem to exist, made everything seem dull. All it left was a dreary feeling that haunted the air, leaving you wondering if you'd get stabbed in an alleyway.

The shocks sent up her legs from the constant collisions of running make her wince and she almost forgets that she has to breathe until her head starts to feel light. She really should've eaten something more for breakfast, or even just lunch, but—no, Chūza, you need to stay in lunch detention to make up work—despite the fact that she really didn't have any. Vivian can practically hear the teacher's voice. Shrill and pitchy and wannabe nonchalance chunkily dripping from her tongue. Her voice reminds her of a pomeranian or yorkie, just without all the likeability that the sound would typically induce.

When she turns the corner onto her street, she can hear the shrieking. Her blood runs cold and, almost idly, she wonders if this is how her life is destined to play out. Vivian distantly hears the blood roaring through her ears and her heart is leaping out of her chest.

She practically soars down the street, nothing but an earthly colored blur, until she's outside of her house. Vivian fumbles with the doorknob for second before shoving it open harshly, the hinges squeal.

Fire.

Warm colored flames flare from whatever's left of the microwave and clouds of black smoke clog the air thickly. Yuta and Jamie are screaming, and Vivian has half the mind to wring their necks for not at least trying to put it out.

Yuta's force field surrounds the two boys. They hug each other fearfully, all wide mouths and teary eyes, still screeching their heads off. Jamie might've peed himself.

The fire extinguisher, she remembers. In a snappish movement, Vivian careens for the garage of the house, running through the living room and kitchen. They have a fire extinguisher in there if she remembers correctly. The garage door bangs loudly when she slams it open and—oh thank God, she was right—she roughly grabs the extinguisher, the tacky redness shining almost mockingly.

Her legs are practically throbbing from all the running she's been doing and she roughly bangs her shin against the dinner table. Pain blossoms across her leg. She grimaces.

Rushing back to the kitchen, she sees the microwave bathing in its fiery glory, proudly perched atop the counter as if it isn't a giant safety hazard. The flames lick at metal, charring the outside and the smell of burnt plastic sears into her senses.

So, she simply pulls the little ring, aligns the hose, and squeezes the handle. Jets shoot from the extinguisher and the particles hang in the air—almost floating. The recoil surprises her and she shifts her back foot to accommodate. Vivian sweeps it side to side with gusto, flailing her arms like a crazy person.

After several seconds, the violent fire dims. It's orange flame barely colored the white around it with it's light. And when the aggressive hiss of the extinguisher sputters, she sets it down, lets it hang from her hands. Her lungs are spasming in her chest, pulling at her muscles and her throat is clogged up with smoke and all she is able to think of is what the hell? It's quiet and nothing has ever weighed as heavy in her hands as the fire extinguisher.

The kitchen is a mess, covered with whatever chemicals are in a fire extinguisher. The microwave is blackened and crumpled and melted and Vivian almost wants to cry whenever she imagines the cost to get another one. The countertop has some scorch marks and dark umber colored streaks marked the walls behind it.

At least it didn't spread to the rest of the house.

Yuta and Jamie are silent and there's never been a sound more deafening than the tension starting the settle among them.

"Jamie," Vivian says in between breaths. What surprises her most is the chilling monotone her voice has taken. She whips around to look at him fully and stabs a finger against his chest, digging in her nail. "We're talking later. Yuta doesn't need to hear the choice words I'm about to use."

And Yuta? Yuta looks awkward. His arms are weirdly positioned as if he's not used to his own body, all contorted with sharp angles. But more than that, he looks scared, a type of fear that makes your heart push against your ribcage. His dark colored hair is mussed and his inky eyes look absolutely terrified, glassed over with wetness. It's the eyes that get her, she supposes, right in her weak spot. Soot covers his face, across his tan cheeks, stopping around the area underneath his eyes and the beauty mark there is left untouched.

She has a feeling she already knows why he's scared, so Vivian ruffles his hair in an attempt to assuage him and a shower of ash and soot cascade from it. Okay, that's more on the awkward side of comfort, but what else is there to do? She continues to pat his head stiffly and thinks, God, please just smite me.

"You aren't in trouble, Yuta." He seems to melt underneath her hand and Vivian has to restrain a smile. She taps his cheek, "Go wash up, you smell like crap." Shoot, too mean. Either way, she can't bring herself to take it back.

But Yuta smiles, all teeth and crinkled eyes. "Okay, Vivi!" he jubilantly says. He rushes to the bathroom, eager to take an actual shower and get the soot off of him. Yuta's shoes leave behind a footprint of ash.

He always was a really good kid, Vivian lets out a small huff of laughter at the notion. Truly the best of the Chūza family. Jamie on the other hand—

Jamie is a real piece of work. His bleached hair is covered with ash and his green eyes—a darker green than hers—peer up at her in what can only be described as pure, unfiltered sheepishness.

The irritation she felt on the train hits her violently. Vivian clenches the extinguisher in her fists—don't smack him with it, that's not what good people do—and grits her teeth, ignores the feeling of rocks stabbing her gums.

"Jamie—"

A crash from the living room cuts her off.

Chills creep up her spine and her heart stops. She gives a look to Jamie, his face says it all. There isn't supposed to be anyone else here but them and— intruderintruderintrudergetYutaout.

Jamie goes pale and then the static settles, no more fuzziness crowding around her brain like leeches sucking her dry of any and all composure.

If there is an intruder this was bound to be one of the worst days she's ever experienced. A groan of pain comes from the livingroom.

Vivian readies the fire extinguisher like a bat, nudges Jamie with her foot. She jerks her head towards the bathroom, a silent message. Get Yuta out. He doesn't hesitate to slink out of the kitchen, towards the bathroom.

Careful, keep silent, don't raise your feet up too high or you'll make noise. She sneaks her way around the kitchen, the rough texture of the walls bite into her back. Another hiss comes from the living room and she decides—now.

She lunges around the corner.

Vivian swings her makeshift weapon at the sight of the man on the floor, but he swiftly moves out of the way. The metal clang against the ground reverberates in her arms, her muscles, her bones.

"Hey hey hey hey!" He says, "It's me! I don't need to die via extinguisher, Chūza-san!"

And that makes Vivian pause, that voice.

"Blackout!" She speaks through numb lips, a smidge unnerved. Did she really just try to hit him? What the fu-

There stands a man with a brown beard, more like heavy stubble, and kind eyes. Something akin to a sweatband pushes his hair back and all Vivian can summon to her head is God he looks like a dad.

Ah, but then, realization. "Blackout!" She hisses.

"Oh, boy,"

"You cannot just barge into my house without prior warning—"

"But you texted about an explosion! I can't just hear that from my favorite student and not be concerned!"

Vivian pinches the bridge of her nose. Don't snap, don't snap. "Jamie did another one of his little experiments and set the microwave on fire." She looks back up at him, "And I'm your only student, you literally cannot have a favorite."

He goes pale, "The microwave was set on fire? Oh my God," Blackout begins to pace. "My children could've died."

"We aren't your chil—"

"Why didn't you call the fire department? Or even the police if you thought someone broke in? Are you crazy, child?" He bites his fingernails and Vivian restrains the urge to sigh.

"We had a fire extinguisher. And I couldn't have called 119 without making noise." She drawls. "Now, please stop being a mother hen and do away with your business."

Blackout makes a face and she has half the mind to think he looks offended. "Mother hen? I am not a mother hen, I am a pro hero who is simply concerned about my daughter."

"Once again, not your child."

He waves around a hand flippantly as if he couldn't imagine anything else as fact. And this time, Vivian does sigh.

"You're lucky that Dad and Mio aren't here or they would've flipped." She explains. "Really, if Mio wasn't a chronic shopper, she would've."

Blackout ponders a bit, "Yeah, that aunt of yours really likes her deals, huh?"

Deals? Tell that to their rapidly dwindling bank account.

But Vivian can't tell him that, so instead, "Yeah, she does," says Vivian, her voice dry. "Y'know what else she loves? People not breaking into the house."

"I had probable cause!"

"A sarcastic," Not really sarcastic but still, "text message is not probable cause. It's teenaged angst."

"Well, I'll have you know—"

It continues on like that for a while. Blackout trying to dote among the Chūza siblings, and doing so successfully with Vivian trying to push him out the door. Yuta and Jamie come out of the bathroom eventually, Yuta soaking wet in ash coated clothes yelling at the hero. Honestly, it was weird to watch a nine year old child scold a pro as if he were a delinquent, the thought of it still makes her choke on a laugh. But after everything settles and Blackout says goodbye, not before rescheduling their training session, Yuta continues his interrupted shower and Jamie heads up to take a nap, Vivian is left by herself.

She doesn't know how long it took to get Blackout out of the house, but she's willing to bet he stayed for more than an hour.

Mio has yet to come home from her spree. Her father remains at a desk for some company she doesn't bother to remember the name of anymore, her mother was probably too busy to have a video chat with. It leaves Vivian with an exhaustion that resides deep in her bones, an irritation in her brain.

She pulls put a chair from the dining table and plumps herself into it limply. All of the energy she had seeps away from her immediately. She sags into the chair and lets her chin rest against her chest. A sigh escapes her. She brings her eyes up towards whatever is left of the microwave.

God, that'll be so much to replace, especially with the type of model it is. What would it be, 7000 to 8000 yen? How much would she have to take out? She'll have to buy groceries as well but that wouldn't work out with the money they have. She'll have to sneak money out of Mio's purse before she spends it all—

Vivian pauses.

What was she doing?She wasn't meant for this. She wasn't meant to be here to put out some microwave, or clean up anyone else's messes. Not meant to be calculating how much money she'd have to snatch just to get some food. She was meant to be a hero, that's what her future holds. A person who helps people, a person who shows that quirkless people aren't useless members of society. She wasn't meant for this.

And for a while that's how Vivian remains.

———————

At school she stares at the application form. A real life, actual application form and she feels giddy. This was her reminder that the world existed beyond this school, beyond the stares and snickers of classmates who couldn't even begin to fathom what she's trying to do. That was what she considered to be her small little world. People know she's trying to become a hero, but the UA symbol printed on the form makes it official. This was an opportunity.

The form itself is pretty normal, but it's still UA of all things. All the questions are simple enough: 'what is your full name?' and 'guardian's phone number' and there's a whole section about mid year physicals on quirk growth. It's such a regular high school thing to do but Vivian is still sitting at the edge of her seat. She gnaws on her pencil to try and hide the smile stretching across her face. The she notices the question,

'What is your quirk? Give a name and a short description.'

That makes her stop and lay her pencil down. She was going to be the first quirkless person to go to UA. She was going to be the first quirkless person in UA!

But only if she makes it in. And that starts with filling out the form.

She picks back up her chewed pencil—

What is your quirk? Give a name and a short description:

And she answers.

N/A