Perhaps a Better Place [A Dadzawa Story]

Guest: Chapter 62

     I blink rapidly, processing the face peeking around the corner at me.

     "What the fuck are you doing here?" I ask as Shinsou steps around the corner with his stupid Cheshire grin.

     "My internship," he answers simply, stepping to the side as I take off my shoes and walk inside.

      "But you're not in the hero course," I say and he rolls his eyes.

     "I know that. But since I'm in the supplementary class, Aizawa-Sensei offered me one and I accepted."

     I look behind me to find Aizawa and Yamada, but they're talking quietly on the front porch and not listening to us. I turn back to Shinsou, grinning.

     "So how long are you here? Shouldn't you be going home?"

     "That desperate to get rid of me?" He raises an eyebrow, which I just now notice has the piercing in it - a simple black bar - before continuing. "I'm here for three more weeks, actually."

     A whole month, then. As I walk through to the living room, scooping Bastard up into my arms.

     There's an extra blanket on the back of the couch and a regular pillow at one end, proving that Shinsou has been sleeping here for... however long he's been here. About a week.

     I go to the armchair and collapse, sighing.

     "How was your internship, though? I heard you were working with Mirko."

     I nod, smiling as I dive in to the less heavy details of my internship.

***

     Later that day, after dinner, I stand in the bathroom in just a bra and shorts, subjecting my skin to intense scrutiny. The scars and hemosiderin stains are painful to look at, but I think back to what Rumi told me.

     "You get to decide how you move forward."

     I think about my new hero costume, which is sleeveless now. Is that a step I'm really ready to take? Do I even want to?

     Of course I do. I won't be able to hide my skin forever, and I don't want to. I hate overheating for the sake of my self-confidence. What if my friends want to go swimming? There's two problems there -- one being that I can't swim. Even during the Summer months, I wouldn't be able to expose my body like that.

     I would never shame my classmates for their scars.

     I wipe away a single stray tear, clearing my throat quietly as I hang up my towel from my shower. Pulling on my "Put Your Hands Up! Radio" t-shirt, I deliberately ignore the hoodie sitting beside it.

     However, as I go to open the bathroom door, I freeze, ice-cold fear pouring through my veins. I turn, snatching up the hoodie and firmly tying it around my waist.

     I slowly walk to the living room where Yamada and Aizawa sit on either side of the couch, watching the news. Shinsou sits at the breakfast bar, textbook open with his worksheet beside him.

      I walk around the couch and plop myself between Aizawa and Yamada, slumping against Aizawa's arm. He shifts slightly, moves his arm to gently pat the top of my head, then places his arm around my shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

     After several minutes, most of which were spent wondering if the news anchor on TV would realize there was something in his teeth, I feel a presence behind the couch and lean my head back to look. Shinsou stands there, hand raised as if he were about to tap me, but he puts his hand down.