brick building
x.2

You'd say a bird's purpose is to fly. To spread its wings and soar, look down at the earth below and rejoice. The sweet whistle of a bird's hallelujah is how you know it's fulfilled the purpose expected of itself.

But to Vivian, a bird's purpose is not to fly. The meaning of life isn't quantifiable, it's as elusive as counting every real number in between zero and one. Impossible. How can a person measure the meaning of something that no one knows the beginning of?

It's its own paradox. An unstoppable force and immovable object implanted into every organic being on the planet. It left humans with the ability to choose for themselves how to define the time they've been given. It left them with the choice of how to spend it as they witness their time come to a close.

Vivian has always wanted to be a hero. There just wasn't any other way for her to live. It's something so primal, so ingrained in her head it's as if the idea etched itself into her DNA. It was in her brain, in every neuron in her body. In every neurotransmission that goes off, to the wiggle in her fingertips all the way to the movement of her legs. It was all with a touch of 'I want to be a hero'.

She remembers the disaster footage of All Might. How he had saved one hundred people and through the amateurish filming you could see him smiling. Smiling, the crazy bastard. That had been what sparked it, a pure and untarnished need to help people. Vivian was four with twin braids and a wide smile and uncalloused hands. She had always boomed out a laugh like All Might whenever she was younger.

She doesn't laugh all that much anymore.

What pushed her childhood dream into an actual ambition? It was the spite, she guesses, to prove them wrong. She's not pure like All Might, she never will be. There won't be a giant 'I am here' whenever she arrives on the scene, no camera flashes and handshakes. She'd do her job and worry about all the trivial stuff later.

UA was the perfect opportunity to get started. The prestigious school was known for churning out great pros who go down in history. It reminds her of the short time she has left before she's one of them. A name in a history book, a title everyone would have to take seriously. The first quirkless hero in the world.

The UA entrance exam looms in, closer than ever and for the first time, Vivian studies. She's used to winging it whenever it comes to tests. They were all too easy and she could generally memorize what was said in class, but this was UA. One of the best hero schools to ever exist and she was a quirkless kid hoping to enter. There are only a couple months until the entrance exam, not enough time. Vivian's docket was filled with three things: training, school, and studying. With little time to herself other than to cook and shower.

She never slept all that well anyway, so why not fill the time with something productive?

That's what brings Vivian to the present. It's four in the morning, she's questioning the meaning of a bird's life, and the book in front of her blurs like a child's watercolor painting.

Vivian feels like dying, her lungs are crumpled, inhaling the stale air of her room. She breathes sharply. She can't help but wonder what was the point of it all? Life in general? Was there even a point?

The words swirl and spin and her brain twirls at a pace too fast for her to keep up with. Her head thunks against the wooden desk. She can't even bring herself to grimace at the pain blossoming across her forehead.

Why did this have to be so difficult?
The lamp provides a dull yellow glow amongst the general darkness of her room, flickering at sporadic intervals. Her eyes itch and water but closing them seems to make exhaustion weigh heavier on her shoulders.

She violently twitches, muscles spasm in her arm, and the sudden shock makes her spine go stiff as a board. She sucks in a hot breath.

Inhale, exhale, the usual routine, Chūza.

This was all going to be worth it in the end, she tells herself. It'll be worth it whenever she sees that acceptance letter telling her that she's made it, that she'd become a hero at the most distinguished school in Japan. Vivian leans an elbow against the desk and covers her eyes with a shaky hand.

The darkness is a welcomed thing but the unconsciousness that swiftly comes over her is not. She doesn't sit back up.

                       ——————                          

The sky is grey.

It buzzes with an energy she can't put her finger on, crackling like power lines. It hums a tune of those who walked underneath it. Everything is carried on by a lull of monotony, dull colors smother the streets. The dark, chipped concrete seems welcoming in comparison to the greyish-red stains that adorned her hands. A cape sits on her shoulders, a rich blue that stands out against the backdrop of the world.

She glances at her hands, they aren't hers but they have to be, right? She flexes her fingers. The callouses on them are a familiar sight but they feel off. Static-y.

It's quiet on the street, nothing but a heavy ringing on her ears as she frantically glances around. The wind whistles in the area of the ghost street. Where was everybody? Her breathing quickens slightly.

A blood-curdling scream pierces the air, high pitched and in absolute agony, almost as if they're shredding their vocal cords. The sky starts to darken, black clouds roll in and sheets of rain start to pelt down. Like wet, tiny, frigid daggers, it soaks the cape. A bone-numbing chill gnaws through her skin.

This wasn't right, this wasn't supposed to happen—

She whips around, sees a brunette woman clutch at her son's figure on the ground. She's sobbing, eyes wide and frantic as she stares at her boy. His face is stuck in permanent blankness, eyes staring blankly at something they can't see.

Her heart tugs brutally. He died for the cause, another face she'll see in the mirror. A bell starts to chime somewhere in the distance. A haunting echo whispering stories of those who served under a blue flag.

Heavy footfalls crack against the ground as war cries are yelled and blood is shed. They came out of nowhere but they riot in the streets and she's in the middle of it all. The cape flies wildly as the storm tumbles in.

A gun cocks. A shot is fired.

The sky is black and the sun, still present in the sky, seems washed out in comparison to the greyish blood on the ground.

                       ——————

"Vivi!"

Her heart pounds in her chest with fear and she sits up quickly spine ramrod stiff. Something inhuman crawls beneath her skin, bleached and papery and she can't even begin to question what it is before she's scanning the room. For a person, a police officer, a gun. The chair tips back dangerously on its legs, her heart drops.

"Oh sh—"

She falls to the ground in a heap, the thunk loud enough to be a gunshot. A gunshot, gunshot-

"Vivi! Are you okay?" Yuta asks vehemently, standing over her corpse. She's dead, this was it.

"No," says Vivian flatly. She grabs at any breath she can get. But falling out of a chair seems suspicious, no? She tries to play it off. "A small child has awoken me from my slumber."

She lazily swipes at his ankles and her fingers barely brush him. He laughs childishly and with a final chuckle, he crouches next to her face. He peers over, "It's eleven in the morning. You never sleep in, are you actually good though?"

Her arms weigh heavy and are dragged back to the ground. It seems to stick like glue. And she thinks.

Was she good?

She thinks back on the sleepless nights and muddled mornings, of wishing with every breath she had that she'd stop breathing in facts instead of air. But it was for her ambition, right? That's her true north, nothing else matters. Sure, she likes to point at stars and put worms back into the dirt after it rains and obnoxiously colored and ratty shoes (God the look on that one cashier's face) but being a hero is what she considers the high life. That's the best thing she can do, why would she settle for anything less?

So she'll ignore the sleepless nights and the existential crises and the heated arguments with Mio and Jamie whenever Yuta falls asleep.

Staring at Yuta's face, here and now, makes something flicker in her chest. That makes it hard to breathe. But it's alright because it's Yuta of all people. With crazy dark hair and even darker eyes and the beauty mark glaring off of his tanned skin, she feels something. She can't quite describe it.

But he's only nine, far too young for her to just start rambling on about the intricacies of life and why exactly her entering UA's hero course is monumental.

She flexes her fingers, calloused.

"Yeah, Yuta. I'm good."

Yuta makes a face at that, and for a moment Vivian worries that her eye bags are a bit too dark to ignore this time. But instead, he shrugs it off before pulling her up off the ground.

"Mio's in the kitchen," says Yuta solemnly. "She says she's hungry." She immediately feels exasperation come over her. Even he knows the black hole that is that woman's appetite. Once she gets her hands on some food she can't seem to stop eating until someone comes and smacks her upside the head. Their wallets pay the price.

Vivian sighs at that, her heart still jackhammering inside her chest.

Of course, Mio would never cook herself, she's pretty sure she doesn't know how. Over thirty years of age and she doesn't know how to provide herself with simple things such as eggs.

Whenever she enters the kitchen, Vivian is proven correct. Mio, a woman with dyed red, wavy hair and pale skin, stands at the stove with a suspicious look. She turns it on and off multiple times as if it's a machine from the future.

Jamie looks on from the couch, pain in his eyes, in what seems like agony at Mio's incompetence.

The woman finally notices Vivian's presence and she restrains the urge to grimace at her unlucky nature.

Mio was never really...mature to put it nicely. But that's the gentle way of saying it, and Vivian never sugarcoats the truth for anything so she can say this with whole-hearted confidence. Mio is like a toddler, throwing tantrums, talking back, and can be straight vindictive with her authority in the household. Her refusal to cook and clean is the least of their problems.

"Vivian! I need food, like, now or I'll die." Mio says sweetly, quickly turning back on the stove. The clicking noise it makes grinds in her ears. That probably would run up the gas bill if she leaves it on for long enough, Vivian realizes. She still needs to prepare something, after all, she wasn't planning on letting her go hungry.

"Turn off the stove," Vivian says cooly. "I need to get stuff out first. What do you want?" Mio pauses for a moment, mouth agape in offense before her eyes seem to blacken in anger.

"I want you to lose that tone." Mio sneers. Vivian blinks, had she said something wrong? She simply told her to turn off the stove and asked what she wanted, hadn't she? Mio seems to take her confusion as a further insult.

"What tone? All I did was—"

"Cook or you aren't going to the gym to train with that weirdo." Mio ponders mockingly for a second. Vivian feels something flare in her chest, protectiveness perhaps? It's a hot, uncomfortable thing that grips her veins in a vice-like grip. "What was his name again? I don't think it really matters, but I feel bad for him. Having to train a child with a disability like yours."

Disability like yours. Disability like yours.

Vivian's nostrils flare. Mio should really learn the term 'don't bite the hand that feeds you' because she's about to get a nasty surprise in her food. It'd be a shame if she were to hand her salt instead of sugar.

The worst thing about it was that sometimes Mio is nice. She has been nice to her before! Vivian knows she's capable of it, but—

Vivian stares into dark eyes.

But if you do one thing she deems unfit, she will fly off the handle in a tantrum. It was really all dependent on her mood.

She really couldn't do anything in this scenario though, huh? Vivian mildly grins, eighty percent sure it comes out as a grimace. It makes helplessness pool in her stomach.

Mio smiles, toxic pleasantness dripping from her lips in faux satisfaction.

It's funny, she could almost pretend it's nausea that's twisting her guts, not weakness.
                      
                      ——————

"C'mon, Chūza-san! You're slacking!" Blackout shouts from the other side of the room. He isn't working out— at least, not like Vivian, anyway. Her hands clench the bar as she heaves herself up again, again, again. It's a routine she can settle into, a natural exercise. It distracts her from the things she doesn't want to think about.

With that weirdo.

Disability like yours.

Again, again, again.

Ultimately though, her arms grow stiff and weary. Aching and trembling with sweat glistening off of her in a way that, frankly, was not attractive whatsoever. She would guess that she probably looks like melted ice cream by now.

Vivian lets go of the bar and descends ungracefully, falling onto her back in a starfish position.

"28 pull-ups." Blackout says as he jogs over, a dark blue towel wrapped around the back of his neck. His neon-colored sneakers slap against the floor mat. "You usually get at least 36. You good, kid?"

She instantly feels something blaze up within her. Something nasty and wicked. Why does everyone keep asking her that? 'Was she good?' Yes, she's good, end of story.

She turns her gaze up to the man, trying to find something to snap at. But all she sees in his brown eyes is concern, soft and kind—it's condescending, he's looking down on you—that could only come from Blackout of all people. The ugly thing rears its head again, butting its skull behind her clenched teeth.

That's not what a good person would do, Chūza.

Vivian shoves the feeling back down into the gallows of her brain. Right now, anger wouldn't get her anywhere. This wasn't even a situation that called for it, really.

"I'm fine," she harshly breathes, her chest rises and falls rapidly. She makes sure to keep her words on the soft side. Can't have him questioning her deteriorating mental state. "Just a little tired. Not everyone can just copy someone's strength like you." She half-heartedly glares at the man, a slight smile on her face. Really, Blackout's quirk was kind of overpowered when you thought of all the possibilities.

Blackout rubs the back of his neck sheepishly with a small laugh. "My quirk isn't copying someone's strength, y'know? It just replicates their fighting style."

Vivian rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You're a human copy and paste tool. They need to hire you for Microsoft Word. Is your agency called Google Docs?"

Face, meet towel. A small pain blooms across her nose as she shouts, "What the heck, man?!" She presses her warm hands against her face. Vivian's felt pain in her life before, don't get her wrong. She's gotten her fair share of bloody lips and noses, broken bones on more rare occasions but still too frequent to be anything less than worrying.

Vivian yanks the towel out of Blackout's hand and hurls it back at him with twice the force. The smack it makes is the most satisfying sound known to man, she swears. She grins a bit. How does it feel to take what you dish, old man? This was God's judgment, a thing no one could—

"Oh, my feelings!" Blackout clutches at his chest dramatically, flopping down on the mat beside her. "Whatever shall I do? My student has betrayed me, the student who has commented multiple times about burning the hero society to the ground! Who could've seen this coming?"

Vivian 'pffts' a bit. "The only reason why is because of the whole quirk discrimination thing. Seems to be a trend, no?"

"Yeah." Blackout ponders a bit, a hand to his chin in thought. "Speaking of quirks, you're quirkless."

Vivian squints her eyes and glances at the man in suspicion. Is he being serious? "Yeah, no duh. That's kinda my thing, man. Sad backstory, big ambition. I'm anime protag material. I just need a sucky family now."

Blackout immediately backtracks, hands up in defense. "No, no! Not like that!" Vivian didn't think it was possible to squint any harder at him but the human body seems to understand the levels of 'done' within her. "I just mean, haven't you ever met another quirkless person? I know there aren't a whole lot, especially ones your age, but there's bound to be some right?"

Vivian pauses. Memories spin in her brain without restraint.

She has met someone, a quirkless kid her age. Remembers a boy with a crying problem who always smelled like warm trees on a summer day. Remembers how they compared toe joints, laughed in tandem through thick tears whenever their skinned knees scarred and their freckled hands shook. God, how long has it been since she lived in Musutafu? Seven years? Eight?

"There was one kid. I think his last name started with an M or something." Vivian stops for a bit, collects her words. "I'd know what it is if I read it."

Blackout's making a weird noise and it takes her a minute to realize he's squealing. The color leaves her face faster than any lap she has ever ran.

"Chūza-san! You should totally reunite! Find his phone number in the phone book!" He gushes. "It's like a work of fiction!"

She restrains her nervous laughter. She's staring at him in disbelief, and idly she questions if she's lost the ability to blink. Was that possible? To lose your ability to blink out of sheer surprise? She shakes out of her stupor.

"Nah, he probably doesn't remember me. Though it'd be pretty cool if he did. Besides, why would I want to go through the hassle of calling someone? No one calls people anymore, Blackout."

As if on command her phone buzzes in her pocket. A screech echoes through the room and Vivian immediately knows who the ringtone belongs to. She answers the call.

"Jamie," Vivian sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. What happened this time? "What do you want? Did something happen to Yuta?"

Jamie grumbles from over the phone, "Vivian it's like, past 8 p.m. Where the hell are you? We need actual food, man. We won't survive if Mio cooks us some shit. At least your cooking is edible." Screams chorus over the phone, ones that Vivian immediately knows belongs to Mio and Yuta. What the absolute fuck was going on over there?

"OH FUCK WHY IS THE SINK SPOUTING BLACK SHIT, GOTTA GO—"

The call cuts itself off and Vivian's left with a startling silence. Blackout looks on in horror.

"Yo," Vivian says, instead. "I'm pretty sure they're going to destroy the house. I'll have to cut this short. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Though, cutting it short might be an exaggeration. She's been here since morning when the sun brightly peeked through the clouds and the milky blue skyline invited her out. But now, she notices, the blue outside is nonexistent and rain patters down gently. The street lights cut into the puddles on the ground and the gym lights make everything seem a little faker. A little more superficial. Like walking into an unfamiliar convenience store at an ungodly hour.

Blackout smiles politely. Vivian can't help the churn of her stomach when she realizes that that too looks superficial. "Yes, of course. Do you need me to walk you home? It's pretty dark outside."

Vivian refuses quietly. "No, I'll be fine." She takes another look outside. With the way it's raining, she'd get soaked before she made it home either way. But the clarity at the forefront of her brain is just how unreal everything feels. She needs to get out from under the fluorescent lights soon. "Is there an umbrella I can use?"

Blackout fumbles for a second. "Ah, yeah, you can use mine. I only live down the street, it won't take me as long." The umbrella, she notes, is a cat patterned one. Orange, white, and black cats with pink noses decorate it.

That's okay, she thinks, she's always liked cats. She quickly takes it, mutters a small thank you, and then slips on her favorite green jacket. Vivian is quick to leave, desperate to get out and go home. She needs to study.

"Bye, Blackout!" She calls from over her shoulder before pushing open the door. Distantly she hears a farewell but it's mostly drowned out by the rain. It's not heavy by any means, but the chilly winter weather has been particularly wet this year.

The air is unusually warm and humid along with the raint following suit. It trickles onto her face, lukewarm and refreshing. It's so nice out, it's a shame she was wearing her good jacket or she'd just stand in it for a while. Vivian unfurls the umbrella and proudly shows off the cat pattern to whatever god watches from above. And thus begins her trek back home.

Rain bounces off of the umbrella in a quiet foxtrot, the noise mixing with the echo of her footsteps reverberating off a wet concrete to make a lovely song.

The moon is mostly hidden by a cloud but the pale light still peeks through and lightly bathes the tops of buildings with its light. In a land far, far away she thinks there is a sky full of stars. Of seeing the Andromeda galaxy and multicolored lights dotting the sky, sugary purple and pink sunsets with a red sun burning bright and hot. It must be really beautiful there.

But here would have to do.

An idea sparks like a flint and steel within her brain. Yuta and the rest could wait for a little bit, right?

The brick buildings she's passing by have a similar trait. They all have ways to access the roof from the outside, ladders and rusty walkways up crisscrossing the red clay. So she does what any person would do and attempts to climb it.

The building she chooses looks like it's about to fall apart at the seams, but the dusty metal bars offer enough leeway for her to clamber to the top. She places the handle of the umbrella in her mouth and then secures her hands. The cool, wet metal rubs the grime off on her but she doesn't take much notice. All she thinks about is how the sky would look beautiful from on top of the world.

Vivian is proven correct whenever she stumbles across the flat concrete roof. She takes the umbrella out of her mouth and looks to the sky. The clouds seem to part exactly where she needs them too, splattered across the edge of the stars as if they were a picture frame. The white specks remind her of her mother's pearl necklace, of her childhood self burning her legs on the heated metal slides, and of medical bandages. But most of all the sky reeks of home. Of a place so far away she wonders if it ever existed in the first place.

She shakes her head. That's ridiculous, of course, she has a home. Where else would she sleep at night? Where else would Yuta be?

Vivian shrugs off her jacket, places it in a dry spot on the ground and neatly folds it underneath the open umbrella. At least her jacket would be safe.

The rain slides over her arms, seeps through her tank top and basketball shorts and dampens her hair. It really was beautiful out tonight, wasn't it?

Vivian steps onto the ledge, a drop high enough that it would most certainly kill her. Maybe another person would get dizzy and lightheaded at the notion, maybe someone else feels the urge to jump. Oddly enough, she can't bring herself to care. She's Vivian Chūza. And standing there in the rain at 8:08 p.m. on the edge of an apartment building looking to the sky above, she almost feels like a king.

A visceral feeling comes over her and blankets her mind. She's never realized just how much she wants to live. That despite being quirkless and not wanted—disability like yours, disability like yours—she was here trying her damn hardest to do something she was passionate about. Even if that something has a partly selfish root. A wild laugh bubbles up in her throat. She's alive, she's alive, she's alive.