All My White Lies | bnha

twenty-one | don't fuck it up

KIDS TEND TO RUN AWAY. All humans do. Issues become overwhelming, and problems seep through the hardwood floor, bursting from the frost-kissed windows and out onto the driveway. They arrive home with a sense of dread or leave it with one, debating on whether they can afford to ignore it an hour longer.

An unread text, a rotting relationship, an argument left on its pavement. No matter what, people run away. It's in their nature; their fight-or-flight. Kids were even more so. Avoiding trouble, lying when they spilled milk to avoid scoldings, and maybe even upturning their nose in the sense that if they didn't see their parents, their parents wouldn't see them.

That is all they do though. Afford, measure. See if that amount of lost time, that withering relationship is worth it. If it can ferment a little longer, compost into the soil or drip into ashes that'll potentially return like a phoenix. It's a gamble—the issue at hand—and humans are notoriously addicted to gambling.

I could feel it. The sense in which my addiction was so. Neglecting my promise, avoiding my parents, feeling as if not acknowledging the ink in my veins would somehow make it easier to keep myself alive. To keep my reality from withering. My mind mulled on that, churning back and forth and Midoriya sent me concerned glances every now and then.

Maybe he wondered how I was managing to keep up, how my body was somehow suspended in the air every few seconds before touching down briefly. Kioshi's arms were swift, tides of ink pulling the branches together and launching me forward. I hadn't asked him to leave and he hadn't felt the need to. Not yet, anyway.

Kota wasn't too far ahead, I could make out the glimpse of his red hat along the dirt of the cliff. How his body was curled back, cowering and shaking underneath a man that seemed to be made of pure muscle. Extending my arm, I could feel the scythe's weight again, its delicate balance waiting for my wrist to flick.

Just a second later, it did. The weapon flew from my fingers, embedding itself into the muscle, keeping it pinned against the rocks just in time for myself and Midoriya to jump in between the muscular villain and Kota. "You should take him and go," I advised quietly, but the green-haired boy's stance told me he was here to stay.

"Hm," The muscular man tilted his head, "The list didn't mention you."

His eyes narrowed at me and I tensed, the scythe flicking back into my hold. Kioshi curled forward, arms at the ready. They were large, sharpened, almost like claws, but I could tell he was growing tired. His figure surged unnaturally every now and then as if he was fighting to keep himself together.

"But you," His eyes lingered on Midoriya now, a small grin stretching across his lips. "You were on the list." Do they have specific kids that they want? I swallowed harshly, twirling the weapon within my grasp. "Midoriya, this is the last time. I'm telling you to take Kota and run."

There was a slim chance I could win. My opponent was large, and bulky, with regenerative powers that outsped mine immensely. His muscles twitched and twisted, bulking up together so unnaturally it almost made me nauseous. "No," Midoriya's teeth grit. Lightning sparked across his body. "I have to help you."

"You don't, kid. That's kinda the entire point," Kioshi said, slight panic edging his tone. The man had tilted his arm back, tan skin contorting into pink as his muscles layered over and over. He chuckled. "That sounds like the exact thing a hero would say. Your kind are everywhere, talking about justice. You're the one called Midoriya, right?"

He still refused to look at me, eyes moving past me and towards the green-haired boy behind me. "And you. . . " His eyes finally met mine and he smirked. "You'll be collateral damage. This is perfect. We were told to take the initiative and kill you, but there's two of you now. I'll make sure to torment the both of you thoroughly, so show me your blood!"

He threw off his cloak and I could finally make out the rest of his figure. His tan skin combined with the ripples of his muscles. He's built like a fucking tank. He launched himself forward, hovering above me just for a few seconds. I swallowed. Maybe that collateral damage label is right.

He was fast, insanely so, but my speed was on par with his. Just enough for me to parry his blow, take the brunt of it, and skid back a foot or two from the impact. My ink had steeled itself, hardened, stilled, whatever you could refer to it as. They were soldiers of war, an army ready at the forefront of my veins.

He smirked lightly when some of it had spilled onto his skin anyway, droplets of Kioshi splattering his red tank top. I winced, looking back at my younger brother who curled inwardly as if his insides were spilling. "While you two are still alive to talk, mind answering one question?"

This time I wasn't able to dodge.

A cough shook my ribs and I could feel my back slam against the wall. Midoriya looked at me, concerned beyond belief, but his lips quivered. He still wasn't sure if it was worth it; he'd be going against me and Mandalay's orders if he did anything. "Where's that Bakugo kid, huh?"

Bakugo, Bakugo, Bakugo. . . My mind trailed off in a slight trance, trying to recall the boy's identity with all my might. Raggedy blond hair, furious red eyes, and a quirk to match his temper. He was explosive, unpredictable. He was collateral damage in its finest form. "Have you tried checking up your ass and around the corner?" I coughed.

Hunched, but fine. Hurt, but strong. My blood had stilled itself once again, scythe in hand. I wasn't sure how much I had left if the ink strapped to my waistband was enough to replenish what I'd used. His eyes twitched, brows raised in irritation. "If you're not going to answer my question, that's fine." His lips contorted into a smirk.

"We can still play!"

Another slam to the gut. His foot punched into my ribs and I hacked into my mask. My scythe had managed to deflect some of the blow, but the tip of his foot had still pushed past it, my torso suffering as a result. Kioshi sent me a short glance, watching my fingers curl towards my abdomen.

Clenching, unclenching, as if confirming the pain that radiated within my body. "You know you can't last like this. You can't take it," Kioshi muttered. I couldn't tell if he was taunting me at first or not, but his glowy white eyes pierced into mine, a glint of concern evident within them.

"And you can?"

It was a stupid question to ask. He looked equally as weak—if not more than me—his body thrived off of mine, so he was even worse off. "Probably," His answer caught me off guard. "I'm not human, remember? I can't feel pain. There's no hindrance on my end if I get hit; I just feel weaker, but if you focus on keeping me alive then. . . "

"I thought our ultimate was still in the woodwork. I still can't summon anything else when you're like that."

"It's all we have. Me, your scythe, that's it."

I looked back at Midoriya, the scuffs along his skin and the way his arms were lit up, still curled over Kota's cowering figure. Maybe my ink wouldn't be enough, Kioshi could wither away any minute now. It was risky, a gamble. However, humans were notorious for gambling.

It was their addiction.

I nodded curtly at my brother. I didn't expect the sensation I felt, the mix of cold and hot as my—no, his—ink sludged over me like armor. Claws hung forward, just inches from my arms but feeling like a mile away. As I bent my limbs, they did the same, curling and uncurling.

I steeled myself, my blood stilling along with it as I could feel the ink armor harden against my skin, clamping around the stick of my scythe. "Okay, so here's the plan," Kioshi started speaking. "We don't fuck up. Got it? I think that's easy enough." My brows furrowed and I deadpanned.

"No, not really."

The muscular arm smashed against my scythe again but I glided it upwards, the tip skinning his muscles. I knew it wouldn't do very much, the fibers regrowing and strengthening once again. This wasn't a battle of skill or speed; it was one of endurance. And I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep up.