"Shoto-san, can you sit down on your bed and wait a minute for me?"
It's... in fact not a minute, it's more. Shoto has no idea what Arata is doing, but she has spent quite some time in the bathroom. He heard the water tap—or was it the shower?—repetitively switched on and off for several times.
He is entertaining the idea to knock on the bathroom door when Arata finally walks up to him, a pile of folded towels in her arms and a hairband in her mouth.
"What are these for?" he questions. However, her expression doesn't give anything away, neither about the stuff she's bringing nor the thoughts running in her mind when she throws an unreadable glare at him.
Ara, are you... actually angry at me? Say something... I don't understand what's happening.
Arata places the white stack—her cat-patterned water bottle sitting at the top—down on the bedside table, then holds up a hand, wordlessly asking him to wait. Pursing her lips, she swiftly pulls up her hair and combs it into a neat ponytail with her fingers, lifting the strands up from her nape. A couple of side bangs tumble down, delicately framing her dimpled cheeks.
Tying up her hair usually is an easy task, one she can do with her eyes closed. Anyhow, it changes when she makes a mistake of glancing at Shoto... and realizes that his eyes have been on her all along.
Grey-cyan follows her every move, the intensity it holds smolders her. It heats her cheeks up more and more as time passes, fluttering weird butterflies in her stomach. Even after she tilts her face to another direction, she still can feel his gaze burning a hole on the back of her head.
This is so awkward! What is he doing? Why is he looking at me like that?
Hands getting a little shaky now, she nearly drops the hairband when she plucks it from her own mouth. Somehow, in a way she doesn't know how because she's freaking out inside, she manages to recover, then hurriedly twists it around her ponytail.
"Um, Shoto-san, is there... something on my face? You've been—"
"No." In an instant, Shoto turns away, one hand covering his mouth, the tips of his ears flaring red. "Nothing."
It's just that you look— Ugh, stop! Catching himself sneaking another glance, he immediately jerks his traitorous gaze towards the opposite direction. Warmth creeps the back of his neck. What am I doing? In the first place, didn't I merely want to check whether she is truly upset with me or not?
"..."
"..."
What an awkward shift in the atmosphere they're experiencing here. It doesn't seem like there's a correct way to break off the lingering, obscure tension between them. However, it doesn't keep Arata from starting what she intended to do. "So, uh... Shoto-san, can you move forward from the headboard a little?"
"... Like this?"
"Yeah." Arata nods, her hand re-positioning the pillows to support his back, making sure he can lean on them cozily. Afterwards, she picks her water bottle from the top of the towel stack and slips it carefully between the pillows and his nape. "Is it too hot for you?"
"No, it's... warm. It feels nice. But, what are you doing?"
Yeah, that's a nice question, a sarcastic sneer echoes in Arata's mind as her gaze flicks to his arms again. What are you doing here, Arata? Haven't you done enough damage? What can you even do to make his arms feel better?
"H— Heat therapy..."
As if it would fix everything.
Arata clenches the towel in her grip tighter, feeling a little of its warm moisture running down her wrist before it drops on the carpet—the spot next to her knees—below and disappears. Disappears just like that. An existence so insignificant, so meaningless...
Kind of like her, isn't it?
"... to help you relax your muscles."
Not even close to healing, but that's the best you can do, isn't it? The best you can give, yet it still won't fix anything.
"Shoto-san, maybe I'm asking too much, but I hope... you'll let me do this. I'll try my best if you give it a chance..."
What a waste of his time. Don't you feel pathetic for begging for something so pointless, Arata?
"... And please— please know that you can tell me to stop whenever you want."
The look on Shoto's face is indescribable, but considering his silence, she can tell that he's a bit wary of her request. Ah, why wouldn't he be anyway? Her request is foolish and ridiculous, a nice recipe set up for refusal.
So Arata is extremely glad when he eventually nods. "Well, okay."
"Can you close your eyes, Shoto-san?"
"All right."
Surely but softly, Shoto can feel a warm, moist towel pressed to his chin, then up until it wraps around his entire face, except nose and lips, in a balmy caress. After a few rustles, both his arms follow next, as Arata uses the rest of the towels to envelope them.
True to her words, the warmth feels pleasant on his sore muscles. Even more when she starts applying some pressure with her fingers, gently working her way to release the muscle knots scattered around his left arm. Before he knows it, a content sigh escapes his mouth.
"Does it feel good? Not too hot?" Arata asks, worry smearing her tone. "I've tried it a couple of times on myself, but this is the first time I try it on someone else."
"It's relaxing. I could get used to this."
"This is a work of a complete amateur." Shoto hears her chuckle, yet despite his positive feedback earlier, there is no genuine joy in it. Contrast to her solid touches on his bicep, her laugh sounds... hollow. "If you like it, maybe you want to search for a professional service by the time we return. It must be a lot more pleasant. They have specialized staff, and I'm... nothing compared to them."
"No."
"No? Why?"
"It'll be different. They're... strangers." There will be no meaning to it.
"And... I'm not?"
"I'm sharing a room with you. What do you think?"
It's just a simple question. The answer is obvious. "Sure, we're friends," is what Shoto hopes Arata will reply to him with, preferably with a smile in her voice. Yet, her actual answer never comes, as if she doesn't hear him... or is intentionally ignoring him.
Please say something. Anything.
But, Arata stays quiet, working her fingers up his right arm without making a sound. Letting his question fade into the silence. Sinking his previous hope to the pit of his stomach.
And although he's being surrounded by warm towels, there's a chilling sensation inside him that he can't shake off. It has been eating away at him ever since she turned her back on him after their lunch. Now, it's looming over him like an enormous, dark entity that he can't figure out or defeat.
I don't understand... Did I do something wrong? Why are you being like this, Ara?
She's being so warm to him by going out of her way to do this... thing with warm towels, by caring for him. Yet, at the same time, she's being so cold by drawing an invisible line between them. It's not like she shut him outright, but it's like she was just there, severing all connections to him, except for this one massage.
Like all the warmth in these towels... was the only warmth she got left for him. After it cooled down, there would be nothing left. He would be left in the cold.
And... her warmth has already started losing its heat. Rapidly.
"Ara..." Shoto swallows the lump in his throat. "What did I do wrong? How can I fix it?"
As soon as those words sink in, she freezes in her place, her fingers stop kneading his right bicep. "What are you saying, Shoto-san? You've done nothing wrong at all."
"Then, why? Why are you so upset?"
"... Because, I couldn't do anything right... even when I was asleep..."
"What?"
"I'm— I'm sorry..." Arata croaks out, heavy breaths heaving between each syllable. "I caused this. It's because of me your arms got hurt..."
If only I wasn't so helpless, would everything be different?
"I've told you it's nothing, Ara."
"Your soreness isn't nothing, Shoto-san!" Her voice is audibly cracking, the bitterness in it is palpable. "I know because your muscles are w— way too stiff... They were overused! Carrying me must have taken a great toll on you. You should've left me in the botanical garden or kept me somewhere hidden... Bringing me along dragged you down too much..."
I've always burdened you. Always. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of myself.
"There were villains. I couldn't possibly do that."
"Weren't they all unconscious? If you had left me, most likely nothing would've happened either! You knew that."
"You might be right," Shoto mutters solemnly. "But, it's you, Ara. I don't take risks."
"Then, probably... you should. Don't— Don't prioritize me anymore."
Can't you see that I'm not worth it?
"Ara, I don't see why—"
"You've... You've changed my life," Arata whispers to him, her knuckles white from clutching the bed sheets. "You're an irreplaceable part of it, and without you, my life would be a lot different. You pushed me to be better. There's no doubt about it. But, it— it doesn't work the other way around."
Our relationship is off-balance. It's always been.
"..."
"Even without me, your life would still be the same... because I've been nothing but trouble for you, Shoto-san! You've done so much for me, but the only things I can do in return... are minor things, like fixing your tie or this massage. Everyone could do it if placed in my shoes, and pragmatically, these things don't even matter much! They're just... nice to get. They're... nothing."
What can I even do for you?
Arata's breaths tremble as she peels the now-cooled towels from his arms one by one, allowing the leftover warmth dissipate slowly. Shoto still hasn't said anything to her, he merely stays quiet and listens to her.
Unable to bring herself to take off the last towel around his face just yet, she slumps her head on the side of the bed and lets her thoughts pour out.
"I know you don't mind spending time with me, but... isn't it something born out of habit? We're not friends because I had an impact on your life... We are because you get used to me. This— This is a friendship born out of convenience and—"
"Stop." His large fingers weave between hers, wrapping around the back of her hand tightly. "That's enough, Ara."
Her head snaps up, meeting the stern grey-cyan eyes peeking out from the dangling towel on his face. "But—"
"You said I can stop you whenever I want, so please do."
I meant it in case I accidentally hurt you! Not for this purpose! Arata bites her lips and turns away, stifling a frustrated groan from coming out. "..."
Joining her on the carpet, Shoto sits down before her. "Ara, can you look at me?"
"H— Huh?"
Shifting closer, he grabs the damp towel from his head and carefully dabs it below her green eyes. "You're crying again."
Oh, she blinks as a few teardrops part from her face, absorbed by the soft fabric. I... didn't even realize I've been crying...
"Listen, Ara." Shoto's gaze is as assertive as his hold on her hand. There is no place for hesitation and disbelief in them. "You want to know what's convenient for me? Having an internship in my old man's agency, despite how I really felt about him. Our friendship? This is not out of convenience."
"..."
"Had this been out of convenience, I would've dropped it a long time ago. Maybe you don't know because you didn't see how I was when I first entered U.A., but I don't maintain friendships if I don't want them, Ara. And the things you've done... Yes, I agree they're nice to receive."
Then, as the next sentence comes out from his mouth, Shoto glares at her, as if saying he would fight her over this if she dared to disagree. "But, don't say they're nothing. Because they're not nothing."
"Still, I didn't do much for you!" Arata blurts out right away. Her head is hung low, held down by utter shame. "I didn't motivate you to be stronger, I didn't help you in a fight, I didn't... I don't have anything meaningful to offer to you, Shoto-san..."
"I never asked for it—"
"But, I want to!" Arata hisses heatedly.
"— yet you've done it anyway."
"What...?"
"I think," Shoto breathes out, squeezing her hand, "you don't understand... I don't know how to make you understand, but believe me. You have an impact on me, Ara. That's for sure."
Grey-cyan eyes swallow her whole, the seriousness in them renders her speechless. It strips her from all words, and for a moment, only their breaths and the ticking of the clock that reverberate in the room.
Until a loud ringing shatters the silence, jolting them both out of reverie.
"Huh?" Arata quickly snaps her head to the direction of the on-going noise. "Oh, it's... the TV?"
The screen lights up, showing a large "Family of Occupant 1 is calling" at the center.
"That must be Aizawa-sensei," Shoto remarks. "You should take it, Ara."
"Wait, but— but what about your arms?"
"You've helped me enough. I can wipe them dry myself." he unclasps their joint hands, then gets up, heading for the bathroom with a pile of used towels. "Answer the call first. I'll join you and Aizawa-sensei once I get back."
"Okay." Arata scrambles to the bedside table and snatches the remote laying on it. The bathroom door clicks shut at the same time as she presses a green button. The ringing sound is cut off right away, then a standard progress bar appears on the screen.
It's merely been a day since I last spoke to Aizawa-san, but a lot of things have happened, Arata wipes her wet eyes and nervously pats her own bangs, trying to sort some loose strands. I wonder how he's doing back in Japan. Hopefully, he won't be too mad about the demon.
The bar hits 100% mark with a ding, then the next second, the television screen changes into a view of a room with Japanese sliding doors in the background.
Wait, this doesn't seem like Aizawa-san's apartment—
"SHOTOOO!!!" a muscular man roars on the screen, enthusiasm blazing as fiery as his mustache. "You answered my call!"