The moment Arata perceives the fear in Shoto, her heart—or whatever's left from it—shatters into pieces.
Not you. Not you too.
He tries to suppress it, but she can sense it anyway. From the way his pupils dilate, the way his voice trembles, to the way his motion reeks of uncertainty. Even with all the light that hits his back and casts a shadow over his face.
Shoto is afraid of her and Arata knows it. She knows those reactions all too well. Hell, she would have the same response if she could see herself right now. If she could see the monster she is— no, the monster she has been all this time.
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A teenager, twice older than her, writhing on the stone floor. Crimson gushing out from his neck freely. Throat ripped open, the jagged edges of its flesh staring right back at her.
"I'm— I'm sorry!" Arata scrambled away from him, eyes wide with turmoil. "I didn't mean to... H— He started it first! I was just—"
"To hell with it! Don't you dare come here, monster! You're just like your mother!"
Snow crept to her and Arata shrank immediately at the touch of cold, sniffling in the corner. Watching as a group of people immediately came to the teenager that had forced himself onto her. Watching as their faces were contorted with pity and worry. Watching as they brought him upstairs, pointedly shielding him from her.
All the while nobody had inched even one step to her.
Why? Why did they side with him?
"I'm not— I'm not a monster..." She whimpered and clutched her own midriff with one hand, frantically ensuring that there was still a fabric over her bare skin. "H— He started touching me... so I—"
"Hey!" An adult cut her off, body shaking and face reddening. "Did you just accuse my son of wanting to jump you? A trash like you? That's bullshit!"
"But—"
"It's all in its head." Arata heard another person whispered to the teenager's mother. "I'm sure it forced your son to come here to kill him."
But he was the one who had walked in here… She had been shackled and unable to go anywhere else.
"After the starvation we put it through, the hunger must've gotten to it that it tried to make a dinner out of him."
"No..." Arata weakly croaked out, getting more desperate. "Please believe me... He attacked me first... I was just trying to d— defend myself... I would never eat—"
"Don't lie, you trash!"
Shivering, Arata forced herself to crawl on the snow, approaching the Shirayuki. There had to be at least one who believed her, right?
However, the slightest move from her stirred a panicked ruckus. People backed off until their backs slammed the basement wall. Another move from her, and they began shoving one another, fighting to race up the stairs as fast as their feet could bring.
"The monster's creeping closer!"
"Run! It will kill you next! Don't you see its hungry gaze!?"
"Somebody please throw meat at it! Or else it will eat us all!"
"Monster!"
These many people, and not one of them believed her. Not one of them looked back and asked if she was okay. Not one of them listened to her pained cries.
Understandable, because, who the hell would choose to stay with a monster?
So Arata broke down alone, sobbing in a basement crusted over by dried blood, with packages of meat lying on the floor untouched.
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The past is repeating itself. Her life must be some kind of a sick joke.
A part of her dies along with the realization, that there is no forgiveness for what she has done. There is no believing a monster who has ripped necks apart. There is no undoing the savagery she has committed.
And, as much as Arata wishes for it, there is no going back to the time where Shoto didn't know this side of her.
There won't be any more talking with him on a bench. No more fooling around in the rain together. No more teaming up for an I-Kart race. No more walking back in silence with the sunset behind them. No more seeing his gaze soften infinitesimally.
No more "Ara"... and no more "Shoto-san"...
Because there is no place for a monster like her.
"Please..." Arata hunches over, sobs racking her body, as his footfalls are getting near. Her bruises sting at each tremble, yet the one that aches the most is her chest. "P— Please just go... Leave me alone..."
Please go, don't see me as the monster I am. Please spare me from the truth. Just leave quietly, let me believe that you remembered me as your friend, not this— this monster. Let me believe, that once upon a time, I was truly not alone... and you never walked out on me.
Please don't call me a monster... Because Shoto-san, if you do... I don't know how I can hold on...
She hears his knees drop onto the floor before her with a light thud. "Ara, are you—"
A monster?
"— okay?"
Huh? Am I... what?
For a moment, all Arata can hear is the rushing blood in her veins, her breath held as she anticipates Shoto's next move. His shadow moves closer to her mantis foreleg, and she finds herself holding her breath. His hand stops mere centimeters away, his fingers twitching as he asks, "Can I touch you?"
"I... I..." His question catches her off guard, and for a moment, she struggles to find the words. A raw growl rips from her throat, a sound so guttural and bestial that it makes her own skin crawl, despite the fact that she is the one who produces it. "Why? N— No! This form... It's hideous... Can't you see that— that I'm a monster?"
Can't you hear that even my voice isn't the same anymore? Can you even say it's a human's voice, Shoto-san?
"This is merely your Praying Mantis quirk. It is intimidating, but you're no monster." A short pause fills the silence before he resumes with a more steady voice. "With or without your quirk, at your core, you are just you, Ara."
"But... you're afraid of m— me! I know you are..."
With every syllable that comes out, her mantis mandibles twitch in a snappy movement, glimpsing a myriad of sharp teeth inside. Glinting viciously, as if they served as a warning to Shoto that: yes, the second he let his guard down, it could be his neck being shredded apart.
"I am," Shoto admits, his voice barely a whisper.
"Then, why?"
Arata almost flinches when his trembling hand gingerly strokes the green exoskeleton encasing her left arm. "For you, I'll try…" he promises, in spite of the tremor in his voice and the shallowness of his breath. "As you've done for me and my ice."
Shoto-san, I really want to believe you. I really do. But... my cryophobia and your fear of me, a monster, aren't comparable in the slightest. You didn't do anything wrong... whereas I did. I almost bit the demon's head off. I nearly... killed someone.
Fighting back the burning sensation in her eyes, Arata shakes her head and whimpers, "That's— That's different... Look around you. All this blood... All this doing... You can't— You can't see this and put your trust in me blindly. For all you know, I... I could hurt you... like I did the demon..."
"I know you won't."
"Stop being so sure without reason! You don't know what I've— what I've..."
"Ara, you're dead wrong if you think I don't have any rationale to base my trust on."
"Huh?"
Shoto sighs, his hand still carefully tracing her mantis foreleg, as he begins to recount his reasons.
"The first is when you tried to escape from the hospital. It was your only chance, and my presence threatened you. Yet, you didn't use your quirk on me. Even when I trapped you in my ice, you didn't try to transform. Not even once.
"Second, remember Donki? He tried to kill you. You could've fought back with your quirk, but you didn't. Then, third, I-Speed. Like what Dace said, you could've used it to defeat other racers. There were a lot of instances where you could play it to your advantage, but you didn't.
"Rather than enjoying it, you've always seemed so reluctant to tap into your quirk. To have you using it against the demon... I'm certain the situation must have been dire."
And I'm not blind, Ara, he grits his teeth, eyes taking in the black and blue peeking beneath the blood splatters on her skin. These wounds... That broken right arm... These are too much.
Using quirk must have been your last resort. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been beaten to a pulp like this. You wouldn't have suffered this much.
"B— But, Shoto-san... after what I did— You can't trust me... You can't..."
Why is it so hard for you to believe that I'm on your side? Do I have to show it?
"Ara, can you fix my tie?"
"... Fix... what?"
"My tie, Ara."
"W— What for? We're not... We're not going to a party, Shoto-san... Not anymore..."
It is an absurd request, Shoto knows. After all, what's the point of appearing presentable in times like this? It's not like looking neat would give him the upper hand in fighting. Still, he prods her with that one request, "I know that. Can you... just fix my tie?"
Because this is all I can do to convince you.
Betraying the thunderous palpitations in his chest, Shoto steels his grip on Arata's raptorial foreleg as he crawls closer. A horrified gasp escapes her mandibles as he dips his head in front of her. Right in front of a myriad of pointed fangs that deck out her praying mantis mouth.
To fix his tie is to have her mouth and foreleg so damn near to his neck. So near that Arata would be able to tear it off in seconds. And if she really did, there wouldn't be a second chance, because unlike the demon, he doesn't have a healing factor.
If it can't show that he trusts her, he doesn't know what can.
"No!" Arata's shudder mixes with his and pure dread crawls out from her voice. "No, no, no... Shoto-san, I— I can't..."
"Yes, you can."
"... It's— It's dangerous..."
"It's fine, I trust you. Can you try?"
At his request, Arata's transformation gradually dwindles and recedes, returning her features to normal. Her lips quiver, trying to contain her sniffles inside. Instead of the cold, rigid praying mantis foreleg, the one left in his clasp is her warm, soft fingers.
They shake heavily, together with her growing sobs, as she leans closer to fix his tie. For a second, it throws her mind back to a moment just a few hours ago. When there was no villain, no wound, no blood, and no fear. When they were just getting ready for a party. When she could simply be with him, without the burden her quirk brings.
Now... I can't even trust myself...
A whimper escapes her mouth when the tie keeps slipping from her left hand. Wrapping his hand over the back of hers, Shoto murmurs to Arata.
"Sorry, I didn't realize it would be that hard with just one hand. Here, let me help you."
"I don't understand... After all I've done... How— How come you still can...? Why haven't you started blaming me...?"
"You wouldn't have gone this far unless you really had to. That much I know. It's enough for me not to jump into conclusions."
"But, you don't even know... what happened..."
"Then, talk to me." His hand squeezes hers firmly. "Let me know."
Shoto's voice isn't the most gentle Arata has ever heard from him. It is raw and rough around the edges. She gets chills whenever he speaks, because it's thick with hidden fury, ever since the moment he laid his eyes on her bruises, ready to lash out any time.
"Tell me everything. I'm listening, Ara."
So maybe, she should describe everything in a composed manner—like what real heroes do—to assure him, to impart more information than emotion. But, she can't. His voice is filled to the brim with concern—with care—for her, and she can't keep her walls up anymore.
"C— Can I...?"
"Yes."
Shoto smells of smoke and half of his body is cold like the snow that used to torment her, but Arata couldn't care less. Before she knows it, her forehead rests in the crook of his neck, her body ridden with sobs she's kept buried all this time.
"I'm s— sorry! I... didn't know what to do... There was nobody else... And that demon, he— he..."
A pair of arms encircle her shoulders, pulling her closer. First, hesitantly. Then, as she hiccups harder, they press her to him tighter. Stronger. As if they were saying that he is with her. Even without words.
"I was... so scared, Shoto-san..."
"I'm here, Ara."
Then, Arata breaks down into a bumbling wreck. Messy, jumbled words pour out from her like an endless stream. Every sound is a desperate plea, the cracks in her voice are begging him not to leave her. With an intensity that makes his heart clench every time it pounds.
Oh, Ara... Where was I when you were going through all this?
Her hand clamps his shirt with whatever remains from her energy, Shoto can feel it quaking around his waist. So full of anguish, so fragile. The tremor dwarfs the small body in his arms, crushing it under utter ache, both visible and invisible. Although he only can see the former, his blood is seething when his eyes commit the condition she is in to memory.
Unkempt dark hair framing her swollen face. Blood crusts sheathing her bare feet. Torn-up, tattered sleeves. The nasty bruises they disclose. Straps hanging past her blemished shoulders. Cuts here and there all over her disheveled, bloody dress, a silent witness of her harrowing struggle.
Damn it! Where was I?
Shoto feels his arms tighten on their own, and Arata plunges herself deeper in his embrace. Sobbing to his chest like there would be no tomorrow. Clinging to him like he could leave and vanish any time...
... Like he was all she had left.
So Shoto stays there. Even though he doesn't know what to say. Her pain is too much, too great to be erased with mere words.
He can only hope, this hug is enough for both of them, albeit barely. Enough for her to seek a little comfort and safety. Enough for him to know that she's here—not completely okay, yet still breathing and alive. Enough for them to hold on, despite everything.
Shoto holds her close until her cries are reduced into sniffles and her tears are all dried up. Until she lets out all that has been weighing her down. Until she melts into his arms and the sedatives in her veins finally take over.
Leaving him as the only one awake in the dark, bloody storage.