BNHA || white lie

15

NOTE: i decided to completely scrap the original chapter 15 and rewrite a lot of it. sorry, but i just felt like it was too rushed--i think i got a bit overexcited. a lot of the chapter is still the same, i've just added a little more development. thank you all for reading and bearing with me, and i hope this revised version goes a little smoother--sorry in advance for such a long chapter.

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​​​​​​Mr. Evans mumbles angrily to himself as he hobbles to the front of his store.

"What do these LA fools think 'closed' means?" He marches forward, broom in hand, ready to chase whatever boyfriend trying to buy a last-minute gift away from his store.

He stops in surprise when he sees a short green-haired boy standing there instead, shifting from foot to foot nervously.

He knows that uniform.

"Mr. Evans! Mr. Evans, look!"

"What's this, [Name]?"

"It's UA's Sports Festival! Aren't they cool? And, well, I saw it, and I thought, maybe. . .Mr. Evans, please don't be mad, but I think I want to be a hero."

". . .what?"

He throws open the door.

"You," he snarls to the poor terrified boy, "get in."

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The dog barks angrily, louder than usual. You poke the food towards her box, chin in your hands, elbow resting on your knee.

"I read about your hero debut," Midoriya tells you. "I'm sorry."

The chatter of people walking by the alley fill in the silence.

"If words could fix things so easily," you respond, "we wouldn't need heroes."

The small tin can disappears in the shadow of the dingy box the dog called her home.

Midoriya pulls out a notebook from his bag, opening it to a page marked with a tiny pink tab. He hands it to you. It is full of notes, written neatly in kanji and hiragana with the occasional katakana, and a folded paper is taped inside. You unfold it. It is an article—'US Hero Atlas' Debut: A Success or Complete Failure?'—and most of the words are highlighted a bright green, notes scribbled messily in slanted writing.

You know the article. You've read it one too many times.

"I did some research," he explains. "Your debut—it was widely regarded as a success, but in the end. . ."

You close your eyes, as if it would stop you from hearing what he has to say next.

". . .he died, didn't he? Your friend."

"Are you here to rub it in?" you ask him. You understand. You had yelled at him and his classmate, after all, about how terrible their heroes were—but what right did you have, being a terrible hero yourself?

It was why you had kept your opinion to yourself for so long. You didn't deserve it, you didn't deserve anything.

The paper wrinkles in your tight grip, protesting loudly at its harsh treatment. You ignore it.

Midoriya shakes his head in denial. He places a hand over your clenched fist, and you jump, unintentionally loosening your grip on the paper. He takes it from you, gently.

"[L/Name], I know you don't like me, and I can understand why," he begins slowly. He is determined to reach out to you, voice steady, eyes steely. "But I would never do something like that. Especially. . ."