Strings (BNHA x OC) [Rewrite]

52 || Grief

—Three Hours Later, 7:23pm—
——

There was a loud crash and thud from up on the second floor. From the first floor, all the present villains looked up at the ceiling.

"She's awake," Toga said from the couch.

"What's going on with her?" Twice asked from his place sitting beside the teen.

Mr. Compress stood up straight from leaning against the kitchen counter. "I'll go check."

—

He ventured up the stairs and down the hallway to the door of Puppet's room. He reached out, slowly turning the handle and opening the door.

The room was trashed, the bed thrown against the wall and the nightstand overturned. The shattered porcelain remains of a decorative vase scattered across the middle of the floor.

Puppet stood in the room, her back facing the magician, her posture was stiff and her shoulders were tense. He took notice of her mask resting on the overturned nightstand.

"Puppet?" He asked carefully. He knew that her fuse was likely extremely short — anything could set her off.

"Hawks is gone," she said, her voice broken.

Gone? Mr. Compress questioned. He left? No, he wouldn't be so foolish as to leave.

He stepped into the room and walked over to her, the porcelain shards of the shattered vase crunching beneath his boots.

"He fought tooth and nail for me," she muttered. "He fought fucking tooth and nail, Atsuhiro."

"I..." He didn't know how to respond. This was beyond his knowledge.

She turned and picked her mask up from the nightstand. She stared at it in her hands for a moment, then she faced the wall and wound her arm back into a throwing position.

Mr. Compress quickly dashed forward and grabbed her wrist, knowing that she would regret it if the mask broke. He halted her action with his firm hold.

"Let go!" she snapped, trying to tug her wrist away.

He was taken aback by her rudeness; this wasn't the Puppet he knew. The Puppet he knew was calm and collected, and at times overly full of herself. She was never like this, never this emotionally driven.

"No," he responded firmly. "I know you'll be distraught if that mask breaks, that's not just my imagination talking."

She fell silent.

He reached over and slowly pulled her mask from her hand. She allowed it, her grip slackening so that he could take it. He loosened his own grip on her, but kept her wrist in his hand. Slowly, he bent down and placed her mask back on the toppled nightstand.

When Mr. Compress released Puppet's wrist from his grasp, she fell back against the wall, using it for support. She slid her back down the wall until she was sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up near her chest. She gripped into her hair and strongly but shakily exhaled.

The magician frowned. Whatever kind of mental breakdown she was having, he simply couldn't bring himself to leave her to fall apart all alone. So, he went over and settled down on the floor beside her. She didn't move, didn't even look up at him.

He reached over and gently took her arm, coaxing her closer to him. She allowed it, letting him guide her into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

He rubbed her back in repeated circular motions, hoping it would do something to make her feel better. He knew it probably wouldn't. He knew that she felt vulnerable. When you're a villain you never want to get that way; it would be a weak point for others to attack, to get under your skin and tear you up from the inside out.