forever, your aniki 🪐 oneshots (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ ‼️ Ended ‼️

3. Haunted fatigue, living failure

(non-canon, angst, hurt, not a lot of comfort, imagery of gross/disturbing injuries)

Drinks and cheers were pouring out at the annual Young Hero Association's Halloween party. They'd really blinged it up this year, holding the renowned VIP event on the hundredth floor of the tower, its fantastic light show able to be seen across the city. Helicopters buzzed around like hounding flies, cameras onboard trying to capture fleeting glimpses of the star guests inside, because everybody with an IQ wanted to be at this party.

Long strings of paper slithered off M/n's shoulders as he pushed through to the dance floor. The hundredth level of the building was a secure place, where Kurutta allegedly held meetings to decide the fates of journalists and such. The attitude of her esteemed guests seemed they had ignorantly pushed these bloodied ledgers aside as they boogied like unnamable beasts. Mt. Lady and Midnight were tearing it up so provocatively that M/n had to avert his eyes. He wasn't slut shaming though, only losers did that.

The LED lights were on constant shifts, one second they were entranced in deep greens and reds to being plunged in purples and pinks, yet M/n's inherited crimson eyes stayed vigilant, almost eerily switched on like a predator, as he sifted through the crowds like a man made of sand. He was searching for familiar company, luckily he didn't have to look for long.

"Aye! Chicken Little!! I know a nerd when I see one!" An enthusiastic man yelled out, his voice carrying over a sea of bopping heads, "Get yer ass over here, man!" M/n rolled his eyes with a smile when he found himself being wrapped in a large, red wing. Under the plush feathers, the party's trembling base and acoustics was drowned out. A part of M/n wanted to be tucked under this safety blanket the rest of the night so he didn't have to interact with anyone.

"Yo, Drumstick." The teen patted his friend's chest, then pulled back with raised brows, "what the hell are you supposed to be?"

Hawks' jaw dropped at the question, then gestured to himself as if it were obvious. "No, seriously, I can't tell what you are, idiot." M/n laughed at his offended expression.

The winged pro was dressed in a suit, dappered up and tailored to fit every sharp angle from shoulder-blade to ankle, with a grey slime dribbling from the pockets and his jugular. It looked like he wore a sloppy tie, the way the sludge dripped down his front.

"Ugh, obviously something too artsy for your pea-brain to understand, dipshit." The hero flicked the boy's forehead, a glint of a smile in his eyes.

"Of course, I'm too dumb to get... this masterpiece." The teen pointed his costume up and down smugly.

"Well, what the heck are you then? Annoying kid I have to babysit tonight?" Hawks shot back, smoothing out the fabric at his wrists, trying to maintain his rizz.

M/n looked down at himself, then back to his friend who was cradling his seventh cocktail of the night. "Dude," the young boy scoffed, "I-I'm you, man! Jeez, how hammered are you right now?"

Hawks gulped down the rest of his drink and set it down on the bar, his eyes keenly scanning the crowd of bustling bodies before landing on a beautiful victim. Absently, he ruffled the young boy's hair and shouted over the thumping music.

"Pretty sure I don't have dark hair or blue eyes last time I checked!" Hawk's voice rang out, causing M/n to raise his brow confusedly.

"What?" He asked, but his voice never carried itself to the man, lost in the maze of sweaty bodies and jumping feet. With his friend's comment whirling in his mind, M/n set off to find the bathroom.

He had to squeeze himself like toothpaste through the small opening people gave him, lifting their arms jovially, drinks sloshing, inviting him to dance. He politely declined several times, and then spotted the silver glint of the toilet sign. "Finally- Whoa!" He was suddenly yanked by the elbow by a firm grip and collided into two bodies.