Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂
MURMURING FILLED THE HALLWAY, BLOCKING OUT ANY TRACE OF HER ECHOING FOOTSTEPS. Her fingers dug into the smooth cardboard that she held tightly in her arms as she bit back any trace of emotion. Their stares bit at her pride as she struggled to keep her head held high. Show them that this was your decision— it was in fact, the opposite. Aizawa looked down at the girl next to him who practically looked like she was going to collapse. It might have not looked like it from afar, but the man had known the girl all his life.
The people around her muddled into one huge blob of black, forming a mass of bittersweet students. "Did you hear? She's dropping out to pursue art! How idiotic!" She shot the person a harsh look, hoping they wouldn't notice the bags that were concealed away by makeup. No matter how many layers she put on, they always peeked out. If only she could just use paint on her skin. She could use as many tones she wanted to frame her features; maybe she would use abnormal colors to finally fill the black void.
More whispers accumulated within her range— it was my decision, it was my decision, it was my decision.
Class 1-A watched in confusion as their homeroom teacher walked a girl, who looked not much older than them, down the hallway with her belongings. "Who is that?" asked Uraraka, asking the same question all of the students had. An upperclassman looked to the girl, "that's Chikafuji (y/n), one of the strongest people in U.A." Midoriya looked over Uraraka's shoulder to ask another question only to be interrupted by the upperclassman. "If you're wondering about her relationship with Aizawa, don't. No one really knows. Rumor has it they're cousins but we're not sure." Midoriya bit back his tongue, stepping back to his original place.
As the two walked past, paintbrushes and canvases peeked out from the boxes. They were devoid of splendid color, only painted with dark colors. One canvas was completely black. He raised a brow— there was obviously art that looked like that but there was something he couldn't put his finger on. Wasn't art usually the artist portraying something? What made her feel so... empty? He hadn't noticed the muttering yet the blond boy next to him had.
Bakugo grunted, "Art? She's a fucking idiot." Midoriya frowned as he looked to the girl, looking for some explanation amongst her frame. Aizawa rested a hand on the girl's shoulder as she turned to him. Her eyes scanned the people behind the man only to meet Midoriya's eyes. The boy's eyes widened as he did a double-take. Her cold eyes seemed to reflect an emotion he couldn't describe but the moment he saw them he knew she didn't want to leave. She didn't want to remain empty. Those eyes she had...
