Yoyo broskis this is a prior heads up, this story as a whole does mention and describe more sensitive topics.

Triggering Topics Include

Mental illness-  Depression, anxiety disorders, ADHD, PTSD or C-PTSD, and personality disorders will frequently be brought up along with unhealthy coping mechanisms.

- Things like panic attacks, meltdowns, sensory overloads, etc. can, and most likely will, be described in detail

Self-harm- There will be mentions/ graphic descriptions of self-harm

Suicide and/or suicide ideation: Suicide is an important topic in this story and ties in with suicide baiting and entertaining the idea of killing oneself.

Child and/or spousal abuse: Abuse will be mentioned and talked about whether it be emotional, physical, or neglect.

Sexual assault: Things involving Mineta will be taken a bit more seriously along with other, more graphic descriptions of sexual assault.

I do have this story marked as mature, so for anyone who are triggered by these topics, I really do recommend clicking off. These topics will pop up and are considered either important or vital plot points in this story.

white scarf
x.3

There's a bad feeling creeping up his spine and he doesn't quite know why.

Shouta did not get very much of an explanation as to why he was chosen to patrol outside of Musutafu. Places around Sendai weren't his usual route, he doesn't know the place nearly as well. He could easily remember the back alleys and winding streets of Musutafu. Hell, he practically remembers it all by scent. But the small neighborhood he's been temporarily assigned to could very well be utterly unfamiliar.

It was the average lower-class area, emphasis on the lower, that's falling apart at the seams. With weeds invading the concrete and dead lights sprinkling the windows and streets and an odor he can't quite place. 

But the stench isn't what he's here to investigate. Something strange had happened in the otherwise normal neighborhood. A spike in gang-related activity, more than a forty percent increase. It could only mean one thing. A nice little group of criminals wanted to make this beat-up neighborhood their base.

Shouta slides on his goggles and looks out from on top of his perch. 

The area really does look run down. He'd think it was all abandoned and haunted if it weren't for the very few lights turned on within houses. The thought itself is irrational, he supposes. There are much scarier things than ghosts in the world. 

He huffs a small breath.

Sheets of rain tap the tops of buildings, a pale moon lighting the way instead of the dysfunctional streetlights. The orange glow of them flicker ominously and Shouta almost chuckles. It does look like something out of a horror movie. 

But horror movies have action in them, Shouta muses. For him, there hasn't been any movement except for rats, and the size of them was scary enough.

It was odd that there wasn't anything. Not even a scuffle in the street, a small grocery store robbery, nothing. It should be a good thing but to him, it's all just questionable.

He shakes his head. It wasn't smart to doubt something based on very little information. One inactive night doesn't hold enough data to cross out anything. Shouta jumps down from his elevated spot, glancing around. He can't shake the bad feeling settling in his gut, and frankly, he doesn't want to. It's important to listen to your instincts when you feel as if something is off. 

That's when he sees it. A figure standing on top of the edge of a building, hair billowing in the wind of the escalating storm. 

The feeling hardens into stone. It settles deep within his stomach, an uncomfortable pit, and he grimaces.

Shouta isn't the best with talking people off the edge, he knows this. But he'd rather restrain them with his capture weapon after an unsuccessful pep talk than see their picture on the news tomorrow. 

It doesn't take him long to scale up the building. The metal railways offer enough elbow room and his scarf is more than helpful to grab onto things. The flat roof is slick with rain—is that a cat umbrella—easy enough to slip on and the figure is more clear. It's obviously a young woman, most likely a teenager. That only makes it worse. 

Her hands are reaching for the sky, desperately grasping for something more, more. But her shoes aren't off and she shows no sign of jumping. 

Shouta discreetly activates his quirk, feeling his hair start to float. But to his surprise that's the only thing he feels. He furrows his brow a bit. Why wasn't anything happening? There was no feeling of a quirk being blocked. 

Quirkless. That explains a lot.

He decides to make himself known, clearing his throat. The sound grates on his vocal chords like glass shards.

The girl whips around as lightning strikes, illuminating her face. Glowing green eyes haunt the boom that follows. After the rumble ebbs away it's awfully silent, just the two of them staring at each other. There's clearness in her eyes, no fear or sign of an unstableness. A face dotted with freckles and just by the looks of her he can tell she isn't fully Japanese, it's probable that she's foreign.

Shouta clears his throat again, "I like your umbrella."

The girl side-eyes the edge again. Shit.

"It's not mine." She states bluntly. "Who are you? You look like you'd rather be in bed than out here in this rain."

Shouta forces the smirk down. "I could say the same about you." And really, he could. The dark circles under this girl's eyes compete with his own. She looks so unbearably tired, it's important to get her off this rooftop and to her home. Or a hospital if necessary, his mind whispers. 

He tries to commit everything he can to memory. A slight accent but not very noticeable, most likely moved to Japan as a child or has immigrant parents. A teenager.

L̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶s̶t̶u̶d̶e̶n̶t̶s̶,̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶s̶t̶u̶d̶e̶n̶t̶s̶,̶ ̶c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶r̶e̶n̶

Screw it, it's time to the point. "What's your name, kid?" Please don't be suspicious. Don't be suspicious.

Unfortunately for him, she's suspicious. An untrusting look within her eye as she scans his face, eyes trained for anything off-kilter. "Why do you need to know?"

"I'm a hero."

The girl still looks completely unconvinced. He sighs.

"Look, kid," says Shouta, slowly. "Whatever made you come up here, I guarantee you that it is not worth your life." He keeps his voice void of judgment but not even he can manage a welcoming smile. The girl's feet shift back towards the ledge a bit, eyes blinking harshly. His capture weapon seems to call to him before the girl speaks.

"Oh, I wasn't—" A pause. A realization. "I wasn't going to—jump, I mean."

Then something like offense shadows her face. Nothing in particular changes in her expression but he can't help but feel she's disapproving of his very existence.

"What? Did you think I was going to kill myself? You seemed more like you wanted to push me off the edge than get me away from it." Okay, yeah, definitely offense. 

"Your feedback is both unhelpful and irrational," Shouta says, ignoring the obvious jab.

"Good thing it wasn't feedback," she says stoically. "Just an observation." 

Shouta waves off the response with practiced ease. "So you're saying that you climbed on top of a building at night, in the middle of a storm, and are currently standing on the edge, and you aren't going to jump." He speaks it as a statement rather than a question, blunt and frank. 

"I mean," she looks up in thought as she crosses her arms, a hand under her chin. "Yeah, basically. I just came here to look at the stars."

"You don't need to stand on the edge to see them."

She tensely shrugs, coldness shrouding her face by the second. Her face has been neutral this entire time up until this point, he notices. Almost like a doll you'd find in a shop, blank and empty. But the hostility in the air has clearly riled her up somewhat. "Call me an adrenaline junkie."

"You really aren't going to kill yourself?"

"Don't sound so disappointed," she doesn't snap exactly, it's even a joking sort of tone. But it's obvious this conversation is getting nowhere. Once again there's just silence.

It's a bit unsettling but they both stand there unbothered. The silence is strained and honestly? It's a bit uncomfortable.

But he stays there and waits. Because that's his job, isn't it? He's a hero, it's his responsibility to save people. Even if what he's saving them from isn't what he expected. This kid might actually just be hanging out on top of the roof for fun.

It's stupid, by God it's stupid, but this is also a teenager, really anything goes, doesn't it? So instead of suicide, it's saving her from her own sick adrenaline addiction.

There are worse things, he guesses.

The girl buckles first and she sighs, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. "It's Chūza."

The name carries some sort of weight to it but Shouta, for the life of him, can't figure it out.

"Chūza," he says, instead. "Let's get you home."

———

Vivian swears that this is the most awkward walk home of her life, and that's saying something. The man had simply asked her to lead the way and he hasn't talked ever since. It feels weirdly ominous, walking with someone in the rain without talking.

She remembers getting into a fight with a kid once. It ended with bruised knuckles, a bloody nose, and a very exasperated Blackout. This would be normal considering her prior brawls, but to her mortification, the kid she'd fought took the same train home as her. The encounter seared itself into her brain. The sheer distress she faced when asking to sit next to him thanks to the crowded train.

Yeah, this was somehow more problematic.

She's been trying to play it cool but the silence is too much. The dark-haired man had thought she was up on the roof to kill herself. To throw herself off the top of a building, to end her life. A life she's dead set on living, thank you. As if she'd ever throw it away when she has so much to do.

T̶h̶e̶r̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶d̶o̶,̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶e̶n̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶,̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶t̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶s̶i̶n̶g̶l̶e̶ ̶s̶e̶c̶o̶n̶d̶

The rain beats down on the man's head, soaking his hair and clothes. Whatever good part of her brain feels a semblance of something. It could be guilt or sympathy or whatever emotion corresponds with this situation.

Vivian positions the umbrella to slightly hang over his head. The rain slams against the umbrella briskly. Huh, the storm got way worse.

"So..." she shifts one of her hands into her jacket pockets. The other twirls the cat umbrella fervently. "What's your name?" Wait, that might be a bit sudden. The back of her neck burns with regret as she quickly tacks on, "I think it's only fair if we complete our little game of twenty questions."

Great, that was so smooth Chūza, that acting deserves an Oscar! She grimaces at the poor attempt at conversation. The small talk is scratching its way out of her throat like a feral animal, uneasy and crappily executed.

But he doesn't scoff or scowl. He ponders a bit as if considering the pros and cons before saying simply, "Eraserhead."

"Wow," she hums. "Your parents must've hated you."

That, at least, gets her an amused snort from Eraserhead. "Yeah, maybe so."

If she were being completely honest with herself, she did not trust this guy at all. While the name Eraserhead does strike as a hero moniker, he really could just be lying. So she does what any sane person would do and looks it up.

There are very few results for a pro hero named Eraserhead to her unease. A few forums here and there, official lists of heroes who work in Musutafu.

Professional Hero Eraserhead

Status: Alive

Mostly prominent with underground heroics, uses a scarf-like capture weapon.

And underneath, a very pixelated image. It's obviously blurry and amateurish photography, but she recognizes that tired mug. There's nothing other than that, nothing about a quirk or personal information and only one shoddy picture to prove his existence but it's something, she guesses.

"Huh," Her heart rate settles down a bit, palms no longer sweaty with anticipation. She wrinkles her nose up a bit at the thought. "You really are a hero."

Eraserhead's expression doesn't change a bit, it's still tired and cold and a little annoyed. Maybe he feels pity at her attempts at socializing because he keeps the conversation going.

"What would you have done if I wasn't?" He speaks, bland and monotone.

Vivian's never been exactly great at easily understanding people on an emotional level. Everyone just seems so angry or cynical nowadays, but this guy? This guy is just chill and quiet and a little intimidating to sit in a room with.

She isn't an expert in people reading or anything but he couldn't be any worse than some other people she knows. What he's asking probably isn't a trick question like Sensei would throw at her.

"I would've busted your kneecaps and bounced, dude." She shrugs lightly, scratching the back of her neck. "Or clawed out your eyes, it really depends on how you were positioned."

Eyes are a sensitive point of the body, but knees would prevent him from moving, right? Eyes would be easier to attack but if he manages to grab hold of her in a tight enough grip it probably wouldn't matter, unless she—

Eraserhead blows out a breath in response. "Damn, kid. Bring out a rifle, why don't you?" She can't see his eyes below the goggles but she can only assume they blink harshly. "Wait, don't actually do that." He reiterates. "That's bad."

It delves back into silence again. But it's not so bad this time, Vivian feels. She's always preferred hushed environments.

It's like that for a while, the only sound being their footsteps amongst the now heavy rain. It feels...well, she can't exactly describe it other than it being nice. Nothing other than a slight contentment brought forth by inconvenience.

They round her street corner and a weight sits on her shoulders. Heavy and unrelenting and cold. Sometimes she wonders if it's the weight of the world. Condemned to take the place of Atlas. It only grows heavier at the sight of her house, gloomy and dark. It's a shadow in essence. The only signs of life are the lights that faintly glimmer from down the street. It reminds her of a Halloween painting.

It doesn't take long to reach and the second she's outside of it she feels responsibility hit her like a freight train. The black water, the chores, Yuta.

The oddly spoken goodbyes and an insincere 'thank you' only serve to make it more suffocating. As if her brain was all in code and every word she spoke were in ones and zeroes. She can't process much, other than an assessing look and garbled words that only halfway make sense.

Maybe Eraserhead notices the way she's practically not conscious of anything that's happening. A small pat lands on her shoulder, not rough or soft but it's there for a quick second before he retracts it.

Something unfurls in her brain like flower tilted towards the sun. The memory of a childish giggle and scraped hands and thick tears and warm breezes. An explosion.

She shuts the door with another mumbled 'thanks'and off he goes. Off the memory goes, just another shadow in the world. She sighs, closes the umbrella, and leans against the door. It scratches at her with thin wires of wood, sticking into the muscles of her back. Little localized pinpricks she refuses to bring herself to care about. She can't just have one night, can she?

Vivian decides she's had enough of shadows.

Warm lights bathe the kitchen in gold, slightly seeping into the living room where she stands. As if she were bracing herself in front of the sun after a lifetime of absolute darkness. Her eyes sting at the change and she harshly blinks.

Loud footsteps bounce off the walls and before she can comprehend what's going on, a figure throws itself at her.

"VIVI!" Yuta screams excitedly as he pounces at her feet, giggling. "Dad's home!" He rolls over onto his back like a dog, eyes bright mirth, and he lays spread out like a starfish. Vivian smiles, only a little bit. She has a reputation to uphold after all. It only takes a couple of seconds of looking at her before his expression sours. "Where have you been? It's all stormy out!"

Vivian pushes herself off the door, holding her hands up in defense. Yeah, she shouldn't tell him of her little encounter with a pro if he's worked up over a storm. A hero harboring a misconception about her intents on the edge of a building isn't exactly suitable for a ten year old, is it? It wasn't all that bad, she's sure but better safe then sorry. She nudges him with her foot, "Get up off the ground, I haven't cleaned it in a while."

He scrambles to get up frantically, "But did you not hear me? Dad's home! He brought dinner and cleaned!" He pauses a second as his brow furrows. "Okay, so he mostly cleaned, but it's the same thing."

Vivian shifts awkwardly. "He did?" He's probably tired then, she knows this. He works long hours and the cleaning was supposed to be her way of helping out. Scratch that, he's probably exhausted. She knows firsthand how dirty this house can get.

But...but she hasn't talked one on one with him in a while. Hasn't even uttered a word about the UA entrance exam. "What about the sink? Jamie was screeching my ear off about it."

Yuta nods his head, "Yeah, Dad was saying something about steel pipes and magnesium. We're getting a plumber to look at it tomorrow."

Vivian shrugs off her jacket, confusion twisting her face. "And showers?"

"We can go a day without showers, Vivi." Yuta playfully rolls his eyes. Her lip curls up a bit at the thought. "Dad brought some food back from that buffet place. It's in the kitchen if you want any, he got some vegetarian stuff for you."

He starts to walk off before she shouts, "Wait!"

Her tone almost sounds desperate of all things, and Vivian freezes. He stops in his tracks, whipping around to stare at her in alarm. She quickly backtracks. "Uh, yeah, I mean, where's dad?"
 
Yuta smiles warmly, though there is a bit of concern in it, she can tell. His eyes suddenly light up in recognition. "Are you finally going to tell him about UA?!"

Vivian rushes forward in a tizzy, slapping a hand over his mouth. "Dude!" She whisper-yells. It's not as if it's some huge secret in the house, don't get her wrong. But her father has no idea about UA, just that she wants to be a hero. "Don't let him hear you! I wanna tell him myself, 'kay? It won't be good if he learns about from you. He'd literally have my head on a stick!"

Yuta practically sparkles and he nods vigorously. Vivian removes her hand and sighs, shoulders hanging low. This kid gets too excited about everything, no matter how endearing.

"Dad's in his room," he stage whispers. He points exaggeratedly down the hall with an obvious wink. She closes her eyes in dismay. "Good luck!"

"No expectations and still disappointed."

He laughs heartily, lightly punching her in the arm. Soft, no intent to harm like the usual bullies prominent within her school.

"Go." Yuta places his hands against her back pushes her down the hall. "Go go go go go go go go—"

Vivian lets herself be shoved along by her little brother, mind dawdling but the walls are something she takes notice of.

The dark hall isn't plastered with photos or shelves holding onto such things as trophies. Only some sparse frames. None have them the entire Chūza family, no snapshots of them altogether. A family. There are a few of her mother, a woman with a strong mind and a daring smile. One of her father and Jamie in a boat, a fishing trip. Both of them have smiles splitting their faces as they permanently stare at a silver-colored fish limply hanging from a hook. A time and place where they were all happier, in a faraway land where people are okay.

She wonders if she'll get there someday.

Her father's door is exactly that. A door. But something writhes within her stomach, a bone-chilling ache she usually feels whenever she's around her father. She...she loves him, she really does. Except whenever she's around him the tiredness in his eyes is unmistakable. An exhaustion much different to her own.

Vivian waves Yuta off with a small smile and he happily obliges with her nonverbal request.

She quietly opens it, a longstanding creak spearing through the air. A figure lay on the bed, fingers practically flying across the keys of a beat-up computer. The constant clicking somehow drowns out the door's protest to being opened.

Chūza Nen is a man with dark hair and pale skin, bags sagging heavily from underneath his black eyes. He's propped up against the busted and scratched wood of an oak colored headboard, eyebrows furrowed hard in concentration. His glasses are skewed a bit and they haphazardly hang lopsided on his thin face. He looks even more unhealthy then the last time she saw him, she observes. A frown pulls at her face, he'd work himself into the hospital at this rate.

The door opening doesn't grab his attention so she lightly knocks. It's a soft sound, barely reverberating enough to hear. Her heart stops a bit when he shoots up in alarm, hands slamming down on the keyboard. His eyes are wide and red and glassy and Vivian really just wants to force him into sleeping.

"Ah," Nen sharply exhales in relief, pushing his glasses up clumsily. He straightens his posture in a hilariously serious manner. "You just scared the absolute shit out of me, Vivian." He hunches over, one arm wrapped around his torso, face pink. Back to the familiar bad posture that's going to undoubtedly give him scoliosis.

"Apologies." She murmurs. The computer he's using absolutely belongs to whatever company he works for, she notices. Some type of assignment maybe?

But that isn't what she's here to discuss. The topic of UA is best one to be slowly waded into, like dipping your foot into a pond to measure how cold it is. So she decides on a simple icebreaker. "Hey, old man. Whatcha doing?" Vivian softly prods. She treads her way over to the bed, sitting on the springy mattress. She keeps her tone low lest she spook him even more. The man's anxious manner is something she's gotten used to over the years, not as tedious as she would've originally imagined.

Nen sighs, dragging a hand down his face. The glasses he had attempted to fix dangles below his nose before slipping off and hitting the bed with a soft thud. "I'm—" he sniffles a bit, picks at his fingers. His eyes dance around the room, looking up at the popcorn ceiling to the dresser missing a drawer to the stained creaky floorboards.

Vivian waits, though patience has never been her specialty.  Nen mutters out quietly, "I'm searching for a second job."

It's spoken with shame, with regret. The confession hangs heavy on her shoulders, mouth dry and lips numb as she scours for something to say.

A second job? He can barely keep up with things the way they are now, much less handle another commitment on a long list of unfulfilled ones.

"Why?" She asks dumbly.

Her father shifts the computer out of the way before grasping the back of his neck with both hands. "Uh, please don't get angry, I swear I'm not doing this out of some weird sense of workaholism!"

She only looks on with slightly angry confusion.

"Look," he begins. She can tell he's searching for a reasonable explanation as well. "Things at the company haven't been going too well in the financial department. Your mother's military job can only help so much. But with three kids, bills, and helping Mio get back onto her feet while also putting food on the table..." Nen trails off, not completing what he was going to say. He doesn't have to because Vivian already understands.

Mio's habits are more costly then they had thought.

The mere confirmation causes Vivian to clench her fists into a bruising grip she'll feel in her joints tomorrow, but right now? She doesn't care. Mio had fucked them over more than she noticed and now her father's going to have to get another job just to keep up. Hell! She barely sees him due to the late shifts he takes, but a second job? Getting a glimpse of him at all, much less awake would be a miracle.

You should've done something about it sooner.

Nen closes the computer delicately, face the epitome of apologetic. "I know it's going to be hard on you—"

"Me?" Vivian whispers harshly, something prickling in her chest when he flinches. She's not angry, not tired like usual. But whatever she's feeling is horrendously lukewarm compared to how she should be. "I'm not—I'm not mad about it being hard on me, it's you!"

Why was she being so dramatic like this? She's not feeling the equivalent of what she's projecting, is she?

Vivian tampers down a bit on the outside, pinching her nose. "Man, you look ready to keel overworking one job, you'll actually end up in the hospital if you try to push yourself any further." The man looks the other way sheepishly. "Think about this logically, why can't Mio just get a job and pay rent for living here? Split the bills or buy food? This isn't her house and we've been harboring her scotfree for a while now."

"N—No! Hell no!" Nen's voice raises in both volume and octave. Vivian knows he gets defensive about family, or at least defensive enough to forego his typical mood of intense anxiety. It still manages to surprise her whenever his timidness fades a bit. "I'm not going to force her to pay us just for a roof over her head! That's—that's my sister, Vivian."

"She's also an adult without health complications or any disabilities to take note of. She doesn't need to stay inside and take it easy, she should be working—"

"I'm sorry," Nen shakes his head though he really doesn't seem to mean it. He always was ruled by his heart rather than his head. "But it's a hard 'no' and that's it. End of discussion."

Vivian almost scoffs. What a terrible thing to be, caught up in your own head enough to ignore the most rational choice in favor of something that feels good. But it isn't like they haven't had this conversation many, many times before. Times when Mio had first moved in, all caramelized smiles and dazzling teeth. Someone that's sweet and then bitter, like a lightswitch. Constantly changing and swapping so you don't know what's coming next.

Vivian remembers the first time Mio made her cry. She was nine and watching the news, a woman with light brown hair and ruler-straight teeth speaking with fake feelings. She remembers it being something about Quirkless people. Maybe a suicide, or the unemployment rates, or an event of publicized discrimination, any were just as likely as the other.

But Mio had walked behind the couch, behind Vivian, and grasped her hair softly, carefully weaving it into a braid. It was as if radio static had filled her head but she recalls a very clear fact. The news lady had spoken with synthetic sympathy.

"The Quirkless population of Japan has rapidly decreased over the past fifty years, a phenomenal change regarding the sheer speed of the population's decline. Scientists may think it's due to the alarmingly high suicide rate of Quirkless youths or the gradually increasing amount of hate crimes against people with villainous quirks or none at all. Kobayashi Sagi, Quirkless expert, reports findings—"

Mio had practically purred, "Honey, look." Had directed her face back to the screen. "Your future is playing out on a screen, your kind is finally going extinct." Her hands, ever-present in her hair, were soft and comforting. A stark difference between her sickly words. They leaked between the cracks, tainting her brain quicker than the world could ever hope to. Vivian's eyes had burned with tears personally delivered by her aunt.

'Your future is playing out on a screen'

Nen and Vivian sit in silence. If Mio is the person he chooses to side with, Vivian's going to have to do something to help support the house some more. Maybe she'd work part-time at that old supermarket a dozen blocks away or help clean up the tattered library. Get just enough money to help, even if it's just a little.

If Nen refuses to make Mio get a job, to pay some actual rent, someone else is going to have to take over. She knows for a fact that they're almost always on the brink of getting one of the utilities shut down. Getting their electricity shut off is not a pleasant experience.

It takes a hot minute for her father to speak again, "So...what—what did you need me for again, Vivian?" He laughs, though it's a bit strained. His trademark nervousness obviously back. "I doubt you'd want to come in here just to check up on an old man."

And then she pauses in her thoughts, holding her tongue tightly between her teeth enough to tinge it with the flavor of copper. A few seconds roll by uncomfortably before Vivian drawls out an answer, dishonesty weighing heavy in her mouth.

"Eh, it's...it wasn't anything that important, Dad."