PAINKILLER [Eijiro Kirishima x OC]

Chapter 2 - Totally Fine

💊

"Where the fuck are you?"

Kirishima winced as Bakugo's harsh tone tore through him, loud enough to make Kiri's ears ring. "Sorry man, Kami just got his hospital room," Kirishima answered, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, "He has to have surgery in the morning." He shivered in the crisp cold, jogging from where the taxi let him out and back to his apartment, hoping to avoid paparazzi and rabid fangirls.

"Fuuuuuuck," Bakugo groaned. "Did they say how long Dunce Face'll be out of commission?" Kaminari and Kirishima worked for Bakugo's hero agency, the one he'd opened straight out of UA, and if he was down a sidekick, then they would be pulling double shifts until Kami was better... unless he could hire a temp.

"Not yet," Kiri explained, "The doctor said they'll be able to tell us after the surgery." Nurse-Doctor Watanabe. Kirishima's cheeks warmed at the thought of her hand on his arm, her laugh, her roller skates. His apartment loomed up in the darkness, the doorman trying his best to look awake, even in the middle of the night. Kirishima nodded to him, avoiding his watchful gaze and prompt observation of Kiri's blushing cheeks, and hauled himself into the lobby.

He'd forgotten Bakugo was on the other line in his haste to get inside. "Why do you sound so fucking weird?" Bakugo snapped, "You didn't get hurt too, did you, Shitty Hair?"

The high school nickname made Kirishima smile as he took the back stairs by twos. "Nah man, I'm fine," he said. He pushed the door to his floor open and thought about it... shouldn't he feel, dunno, something? Kirishima remembered back to the battle, and realized he'd definitely gotten smacked around a bit.

So why wasn't he in pain?

Bakugo hummed, pensive even through the phone. "Whatever. Get some sleep and I'll meet you at Kaminari's room later. Text me if there are any updates."

"Sure, yeah," Kirishima answered, mind elsewhere as he let himself into his apartment. Bakugo hung up, leaving Kiri alone with his thoughts and the gentle whirring of his robot vacuum scooting around the hardwood.

"Hey buddy," he whispered, stepping over the robot on his way in, flipping on lights as he went. The vacuum continued about its duties, bumping into a wall and turning in the opposite direction. "Good talk, good talk..." Kirishima kicked off his shoes near the coat closet, not bothering to put them away. Who would see besides him?

The cavernous living room echoed his every movement, reminding him of how lonely he was. His keys clattered onto the marble kitchen counter, louder than anything else, sharp and overwhelming in the emptiness. Kirishima sighed and stared at his fridge, thinking about a beer and deciding against it... choosing instead to lug himself to his room for a shower.

He stripped out of his tattered hero costume and left the pieces on his bedroom floor, trudging to his bathroom and flipping the hot water on. Steam filled the room slowly, then all at once. Kirishima stepped into the tiled shower, letting the water flow over his tense muscles, again noticing the lack of pain. He turned his hands over, checking his arms carefully. Sure, he had scrapes here and there, but... they didn't hurt or bleed. In fact, they looked scarred over. Healed already. His muscles, which were usually sore and tight from a long day of fighting crime and kicking ass, felt totally fine.

Too tired to think about it further, Kirishima washed off and found a clean towel on the rack. After drying off, he padded back to his room and collapsed onto his bed, feeling the expansiveness press in on him. He fell asleep like that, half-on and half-off his bed.

Alone.

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Natsuki dipped into her favorite supply closet to cry.

Not unusual for a 24-hour shift, Natsuki stifled her sobs until she found the closet near the plastics department and ducked inside, the tears immediately chasing each other down her cheeks. She moved toward the back corner of the room, away from the door, and sunk to the floor next to a bucket of clean nebulizers, bumping her elbow on the shelf on her way down.

A laugh, shaky and rough, forced its way out of Natsuki's throat. "Of fucking course," she hissed, grinding her knuckles into her eyes, forgetting that she had makeup on. Even after four years of treating patients, she still wasn't used to anyone dying on her watch. Every single patient death was hard, and the special ones - the patients she connected with - felt like she was dying along with them.

But this one...

Another wave of tears rolled in, dragging Natsuki down into the well of grief. Mirei was special, different from her other patients; her positivity was infectious, and her curious, intelligent brain had Natsu convinced that Mirei was secretly much older than seven. Natsuki had thought for sure that Mirei had fought off the mystery illness that brought her to the hospital in the first place. All of her labs had been trending positively. Her personality shone through a little bit more every day.

And then she was gone.

Natsuki got the page just as she found a quiet corner to down a black coffee in, her heart sinking at the sight of the Code Blue. Her feet moved before she connected the dots, sailing down the bleach-scented halls without thought. And even then, Mirei was gone before she arrived.

Hence the crying in a supply closet. Coping, kinda. Not really.

Totally fine.

Pulling herself up once she was out of tears, Natsuki got to her feet and sniffled, pressing her cold fingers to her hot cheeks. She had to finish her rounds. She had a surgery to help with. She had patients that still needed her.

Even if she'd been thinking of adopting Mirei... she didn't have time to grieve.

Natsuki needed to move on, even if it hurt.

Even if she wasn't sure that she could.