Makima isn't quite sure what to do with her time.
She's well-fed, and the food the Shinsous cook is tasty and plentiful, so she doesn't need to rely on her powers to snag the tastiest morsels. She's well-read and well-studied, a fact that remains true throughout all her adopted life and her 'home' life, whatever sort of term she'd use for it. What is it that normal children do?
School is a bore, though thankfully still a walk in the park, so she busies her time watching Hitoshi struggle with his papers and daydreaming about movies and dogs. She wants to watch a movie about dogs sometime, if someone'll make one, but it's not like she can ask for it. Conversation with the Shinsous is limited, rudimentary, and for the most part restrained to the bare essentials - Makima will exchange words with them, perhaps, when they knock gently on the door to ask if the bathroom's occupied, or when she's busy upstairs doing absolutely nothing and stalling so she doesn't have to arrive at the dinner table at the same time as everyone else. Hitoshi doesn't speak to her, and she doesn't speak to him, even if he gives her an odd look every so often.
One day, Hitoshi is whispering to his parents in her peripheral vision, and they usher him into their bedroom without checking for her attention. This is suspicious, and so a bird is commanded to rest above the open window and listen, its ears serving her will.
In the supposed security and solitude of their bedroom, she hears two hard thumps on the mattress, followed by a softer one - Hitoshi is probably sitting between his parents. They might even have an arm each on his shoulders, or one on his back, like the parents do in movies. He says something inaudible - well, mostly inaudible. Like a person's ear is wont to do, she manages to decipher the sound of her own name well enough. An ice cube settles in her chest and rolls down her spine. 'Ah. They're talking about me.' It's a sickeningly nostalgic feeling.
"She's…" Mr. Shinsou sighs. "She's just having a hard time, son, I really don't think it's your quirk that's the issue."
She lingers on the way Hitoshi's father sighs and says his soothing words, and almost misses the insinuation of his statement. Hitoshi's quirk? What about it?
"She's kinda mean though. And she said we're not the same."
A pair of pats on the back is audible from the window.
"It's not really fair, and I do agree she could be nicer, dear…" From her room, Makima sighs, accepting judgement. It's only fair.
"...but she's right."
"What?"
What?
Despite these being the same words she'd originally uttered, it hurts quite a bit to hear Mrs. Shinsou saying them. What on earth could she possibly mean by it?
"You aren't the same," Mrs. Shinsou clarifies. "We know it's hard for you at school, and we know that you have trouble as it is… I can't imagine how frustrating it must be to see your peers, or Makima, soaring through their books while you have trouble. But… do you know what else makes the two of you different?"
"What?"
"I don't think Makima ever had any sort of loving family." Makima sharply recoils, her link with the bird tenuous, but she stills herself and forces herself to listen, to see this to its end. "In her records, along with her quirk, they just sort of… found her following a stranger in the streets at night. We don't have any idea who her parents could've been, or where she came from. All she has to her name is… well, her name."
Makima remembers it clearly. They had no clue, and she had no answers, and every once in a while for the first few months a care worker would try and get to the bottom of her case, of her sudden appearance, only to leave stumped, until they finally gave up and accepted the circumstances. It stumped her too, but no matter how far back she digs, her memories past waking up in that alleyway and seeing the people walk past are an infinitely deep and black pit.
"...Oh." It's a reflexive display of sympathy from Hitoshi, and the pity makes her frown. "Like, nothing?"
"Like nothing." she confirms solemnly. "All she's ever known is living in that orphanage, and it's really not a good place to grow up for any kid. It's usuall for kids who get thrown out because their quirks manifested differently, or dangerously, or didn't manifest at all. You can't blame her for being unfriendly after all that."
"I guess," Hitoshi mumbles noncommittally. "She's still mean though."
"Maybe a little," Mr. Hitoshi concedes. "We know she's a bit standoffish right now, but it might just take time and patience. You'll see, I'm sure she'll come around eventually, okay? Don't you worry."
"Sure."
"We l-"
Makima severs the connection and lays back down on her bed, tracing her ringed eyes over where the white on the guest bedroom ceiling turns beige in the yellow light of the day. She's not sure what to glean from that conversation other than she's not getting kicked out, and that she's probably not going to be punished for not speaking to anyone, which is nice.
Every weekend, Makima notices, the family goes out somewhere, and she is invariably dragged along to whatever it is. Hitoshi usually insists on a weekly trip to the library, and she is more than happy to oblige with his suggestion, even when she's offered a choice. The library has comfortable chairs and she's used to it by now, and most importantly it's impersonal. She can never build a reputation here because all she does is read. She doesn't need to know anybody, won't scare anybody, her quirk will never come up - it's a safe haven from the rest of the world, which doesn't want her anyway.
Mr. And Mrs. Shinsou busy themselves with coffee and newspapers, keeping a keen eye over their child and Makima. Hitoshi sits in one corner on a beanbag and flips through old hero magazines, humming and hawing over advertisements from heroes that aren't in the business anymore, accompanied by the ever-present four colours of All Might every few pages. Makima, for her part, trends on the side of academia, consuming more advanced materials with a voracious appetite and a simple lack of other things to bother doing. Her favourites are books on movies and filmmaking, each technique of which she commits to memory, as well as dogs, of which she memorizes every breed, and people. The third category of books eludes her as much as people in movies or real life do, and this makes them even more fascinating. Being able to read someone's thoughts in a book to see why they do things she notices people do in real life is a wonderfully elucidating experience. If only it were so easy…
Bored from all the books, Makima ritualistically takes her seat at one of the computers. The first thing she does, which she does once a day even if she does not fully understand why, is look up the name 'Chainsaw Man' and be greeted with no search results. The second is what she understands the layman calls 'dicking around'. Without being able to play videos aloud - she respects the ironclad laws of the library - and owning no headphones of her own, she resorts to clicking through whatever webpages the child filters on the kiddie computers will allow her, a rather unnecessary restriction forced upon her by the Shinsous after the first time she began rifling though a criminal database to find her Chainsaw Man.
This time, she stumbles upon a targeted advertisement, crude and pathetic in its attempts to ensnare her attention. It's a pitiful attempt at manipulation she sees right through. She clicks on it anyway.
A week later, Mrs. Shinsou asks if there's anywhere she wants to go on the weekend, half expecting her usual answer ("no."), and the entire family is shocked when she speaks up.
"The dog park."
"What?" she blurts, losing her composure for a second. "Oh, is there one nearby?"
"Yes," she answers succinctly. "I saw it online."
In thirty minutes they're driving there for a picnic, which wasn't exactly what she had in mind. Hitoshi sulks a little, probably because he can't read his precious magazines for the umpteenth time, but she pays him no mind. His parents begin setting out a picnic blanket and organising their Bento boxes, and she takes a look around.
There's labradors and huskies, beagles and sausage dogs, mutts of all kinds, teacup poodles and st. Bernards, a rottweiler, German Shepards, and a few more running around in the distance. Internally, she chuffs with pleasure at having picked such a great dog park, even if she has to put up with a frustrating annoying picnic before she can do what she wants. The thought strikes her that with her chains it would be easy to make them think their food was done, then scrounge it away to feed the dogs, but she dismisses it as unrealistic. Someone would see, and it would hurt the dogs' stomachs.
Lunch is formulaic. 'Why ,' she wonders, 'are we sitting around eating outside when it's the same as eating inside?' She's already learned to just tune out the conversation going on around her unless some particular keyword catches her attention, and it seems like all the Shinsous plan on doing is chatting with each other. It's a chore to bear.
Finally, lunch is done, and the boiling anticipation in her gut is unbearable. Her clenched fists send pins and needles down her wrists as she waits to be excused, and when their bentos are clear Mrs. Shinsou awkwardly lingers. "Ah, would you two like to have a look around now? You don't have to stay with us, you know."
The message to leave is clear, and Makima does, hearing the tail end of Hitoshi announcing he thinks cats are superior and will stay with them, the philistine. This turn of events suits her just fine.
She finds herself drawn to a beautiful specimen of a Siberian Husky as if it were a magnet, watching and waiting for their owner to leave for a toilet stall before she moves up to it and kneels down, meeting it's face. The dog sniffs her curiously, heterochromatic blue and brown eyes meeting her creepy rings without hate nor judgement. Animals, Makima has found, always seem to be at ease around her, their minds so malleable they're veritably at her beck and call, but never before has she had the chance to get this close with one of her favourites - having a pet in the orphanage would be unthinkable, and the Shinsous don't have one, and the videos online aren't the same.
She holds a hand out, as one is meant to do, and lets it curiously sniff before scratching the pet behind the ears. It's totally at ease and begins to wag its tail, shifting to a sitting position. She sits down as well.
The Husky huffs stinky hot dog breath into her face and it's all she can do to keep the smile off her face as she keeps scratching, earning cute snuffly sounds. The wagging of its tail becomes louder and beats against the grass. Today's already been a day well spent.
"Hey there, doggy", she murmurs. "How are you?"
The dog, of course, doesn't respond, because dogs can't speak. A flash of inspiration strikes her, and her hands meet each of its cheeks on opposite sides of its snout, manipulating the sides of its mouth into a broad goofy mile.
" Why, I'm having a marvellous day, Makima, woof!"she pantomimes in a slightly deeper voice, like a cartoon character, before breaking out in a fit of giggles at the silliness of the performance.
"That's nice. I'm having a good day too."
" Woof! That's great!" she makes the dog say. The lines are a bit repetitive, but they're food for the soul. Internally, she wonders how she'll make movies if she can't come up with interesting dialogue. What is it that a friendly person would say again? Another lightbulb.
" Hey, Makima, do you want to be friends, woof?"
"Sure." She gives the husky a great big hug and makes to leave - its owner is coming back. The dog stares in her direction for a while as she leaves, finding a small decorational hill to sit upon, watching the dogs run around with their owners. The sun shines down and makes the grass look gold. It's like utopia.
Unbeknownst to her, this entire exchange has been watched by Hitoshi. Her perceptiveness is usually cutting-edge, but the dogs enrapture her, and he squints curiously at the stone-cold girl that appeared to hold a dog's face in her hands and do voices with it.
She flinches as she feels him sit next to her, slightly behind, and his eyes are on her back. Makima faces forward, unwilling to meet his face, almost like it would be a declaration of her weakness, or her oddness, or whatever is running through his mind.
"You like dogs, huh?"
"Why are you talking to me?" she asks.
"Dunno. Why'd you talk to the dog?"he counters.
She shrugs ever-so slightly. "It was fun."
Hitoshi shrugs in turn, looking around the park at owners walking dogs on leashes. "Maybe this'll be fun, then."
"I doubt it. Dogs are much better than people," she scoffs. He rolls his eyes and gets the distinct feeling she sees him do it. A bird flaps off in the distance. If she rolls her eyes back, he cannot know. It's a little infuriating in a petty way.
In his humble opinion, cats are better, but that doesn't seem to be the right route to take in this conversation, so he sits tight and watches what she watches, both in silent contemplation.
"So what's your favourite dog?"
Makima actually glances back at him this time, her usually impassive face managing a singular eyebrow raise. "Why are you asking? I thought you didn't like dogs."
"I don't," he replies. "But what's your favourite type?"
"Why do you want to know?"
It's like pulling teeth. "Dunno. Just curious. You never just get curious?"
Makima chews on his response forna while, running over it in her head as if she heard the words but didn't fully comprehend the meaning. He's right, of course, errant curiosity has seized her many a time in the past. And it can't hurt to make small talk about something she likes.
"I like Huskies. Did you know they're the hardest dogs to train?"
"Oh?" He asks, not expecting a response.
"It's true. Despite that, they're not violent. They're very loyal and pack-oriented dogs by nature. Additionally, they're one of the oldest breeds of dogs on the planet, going back at least three thousand years, being bred as expert sled dogs, a tradition that is still carried on to this day. They're specially evolved to divest nutrition from the fat they eat more directly and can run for longer than almost any other dog breed. A team of huskies can run a hundred and fifty miles a day. Because of this, they're an active breed and require regular exercise, or otherwise they become more destructive and rambunctious, and are known to escape the house or destroy things. Did you know their howls can be heard from ten miles away? Also, they quite commonly have heterochromia with one brown and one blue eye, such as the one I just saw. Sometimes they can even have green or yellow eyes, like me. Because they're adapted to survive in exceptionally cold climates, Siberian Huskies can even remain alive in negative fifty-six degrees celsius. Their dense coats don't require cleaning or trimming, and sufficient brushing as well as shedding is enough upkeep for them. There's a Chukchi belief that they guard the gates of heaven."
Hitoshi merely stares at her, an expression of pure and utter bewilderment so clear than even Makima, in her cynicism, takes it at face value.
"Did I say something surprising?"
"I… was just surprised by how much you knew about huskies."
Makima's hand fists itself in the grass under her fingertips as she stares at the dog park below, reasoning with herself whether to say what she's about to or not.
"I… also know a lot about German Shepards. Do you want to hear?"
"Sure." He doesn't, it's clear, but he doesn't sound too unhappy about it either. What does he have to gain from listening to her? Either way, she won't let an opportunity to put the facts she's spent hundreds of hours poring over on the library computers to waste.
For the next two hours, she bores him to death with dog facts until he falls asleep where he sits, and she sits on the hill until his parents come to pick both of them up, smiling. All in all, the day is a success.
It's a pretty regular day in the Shinsou household, as far as they go. Makima returns home from school and completes her homework, giving it no further thought as she lounges in front of the TV. Usually at this time Mr. And Mrs. Shinsou are still out working, and Hitoshi is in his room, so she has it all to herself.
The show she's watching, something about quirked animals in nature, cuts to a commercial - All Might gives the screen a hearty SMASH and loudly declares that 'There's a truly HEROIC taste in each bag!'.
Heroes have never been a big part of Makima's life beyond the entertainment she consumes. They dominate the media, something she's increasingly come to notice, and as a result there are lots of movies and shows about them. They're a constant, pervasive element of her life's backdrop, but never have they been particularly relevant besides… the first family that tried taking her in.
She casts that thought aside. Heroes are largely irrelevant to her. Still, it's an understandable path to take. Wanting to rid the world of suffering and evil… how can someone not admire it? It's rather similar to her own goal, albeit lesser in scale. The complete and existential vanquishing of evil is a lofty goal for anyone to proclaim, and lately her own limitations have been weighing on her.
There is no known quirk that allows the user to control reality itself. Makima doesn't have access to whatever private records the government may keep, of course, and her eyes and ears in every lesser being can only stretch so far. She's still unused to using her quirk very much, even despite secretly training it at night. Research on foreign heroes bears little fruit as well - she strongly suspects that Number One Hero in America, Star and Stripe, has a quirk that amounts to 'can do everything' from the footage she's studied, but that's no confirmation. Makima would look very stupid if she Brain Chain-ed herself a path all the way to America to control its number one hero only to discover she can't erase 'bad' and promptly get gunned down. There's also one from Russia who seems similar.
Russia… the name doesn't quite sit right in her head. She does her research. Apparently the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991? That doesn't feel right at all, but it's clear as day in the webpages she frequents for research. She tables the thought for another time.
And so, secret night training of her quirk a while off and nobody in her way, she enjoys the company of the television. There's a dog who talks and understands human language, even if he still has an animal's mind. Seeing him curiously sniff around young children and ask strange questions only an animal's mind can conjure up is, in Makima's opinion, the cutest damn thing in the world. She stifles a giggle before anyone can hear.
Sadly, even television can become dull after enough time, and the program ends for some documentary on jewelry. Makima switches it off and dawdles around the house looking for something else to do. Maybe she can go to the dog park again?
Yes, perhaps that's a good idea. Her memory is perfect enough that she clearly remembers the route by car. It'll only be a forty minute walk. She heads up to the room she's been given to fetch some warmer clothes.
THUD.
Makima freezes. She had walked past Hitoshi's room right as he'd slammed something on his table. Did he sense her walking past? Was he angry about something?
This would be a perfect time to leverage some control over him, now that his parents are out of the house, she thinks, and intrudes immediately. Hitoshi is hunched over his desk with his fist clenched, obviously seriously frustrated at his homework. How is he still working on it? It's been two hours.
"How are you still working on this? It's been two hours," she blurts out. Hitoshi doesn't look too happy to hear her honest opinion on his capabilities and his frown deepens. Makima leans over his shoulder and tries to make out where he's stuck through his annoyingly purple hair.
It's… basic exponents.
"It's basic exponents," she vocalizes. Hitoshi doesn't seem to be very pleased when she speaks her mind.
"Easy for you to say," he grumbles. "None of it makes sense. Would be nicer if the teacher would answer my questions."
She's noticed how unwilling people at school are to talk to Hitoshi, rivalled only by herself. There's a sort of distanced kinship there, or so she'd like to believe, but they're too far apart. Hitoshi has a loving family, and from what interactions with him she's gathered he's likeable enough. Makima has neither of these traits, but she's good at math. Hitoshi isn't. If only life could be so easy as to let her make an exchange.
The idea comes to mind of using her quirk to force him to sit down and learn it right, but he might just forget everything the second she lets it release. She's not very good at controlling that effect and hasn't had people to test it on for a good long while.
She cannot compel him to learn, so the only other logical course of action is to help. Why not? She's bored and has nothing else to do.
"The answer to the question you're stuck on is B to the power of twenty-six."
Hitoshi stares at the paper, trying to suss out exactly how she got to that conclusion.
"How the hell did you…I just don't understand it," Hitoshi huffs, dropping his pencil on his book with a light smack. "It's too complicated! And it gets harder, too! How am I supposed to remember all this, huh? Forget my quirk, I'm never gonna be able to get into a hero school if I fall face-first on the written exam!"
"How can you not remember this? It's simple," Makima rebuffs. She doesn't understand why Mr. and Mrs. Shinsou even bother with him, sometimes. Then again, maybe these grades are that important to him. Getting good marks never endeared anyone to her, demon child that she was, but it must be different for everyone else. Makima was beginning to understand the rules.
"I just don't! You're lucky you just have one of those brains that lets you remember everything super well!" Hitoshi huffs. Makima has never once felt lucky for the way her brain works, so it's an odd thing to hear. Taking her silence accurately as an expression of perplexment, he continues. "You just don't get it. Most people can't understand stuff this easily."
"Why not?" Makima presses."It's simple." What more is there to get?
Hitoshi shrugs angrily. "I dunno! Why can't you understand why I can't understand?"
She hadn't been expecting a question as broad as that, and it throws her for a loop. Makima mulls it over as Hitoshi returns to his work, slogging away through basic sums she knows the answers to but has no idea how to express.
How does she even go about teaching it when she doesn't understand the way he thinks? The way his parents think? The way anyone thinks? It's just another thing she can't do, and it infuriates her to no end.
An idea strikes her brain like the first droplet of spring. The parents! Mr. And Mrs. Shinsou must know how Hitoshi thinks - why, they raised him! If anyone's an expert on what's going on in his mind, it would be them.
Armed with new conviction, she sets off across the house.
"How do normal people think?"
Makima stares up at Mrs. Shinsou, who stares back down from her armchair, a laptop perched on her legs.
"Pardon?"
"How do normal people think?" She repeats. It can't be that hard of a question to comprehend.
"What brought this on, dear?"
Something funny curls in Makima's gut when he hears the term of endearment. It's an instinct from talking to Hitoshi, obviously, but she's still slightly taken aback to hear it. She powers through the feeling.
"Hitoshi can't do his homework because he says he doesn't think like I do so I want to know how he thinks so I can teach him."
Mrs. Shinsou smiles down at her. There comes that funny feeling again.
"That's sweet of you. I don't really understand the question, but Hitoshi generally just needs more time. It doesn't matter how much you point things out to him, he needs to be able to learn on his own, or he won't absorb anything. He's not as fast as you might be when it comes to learning new things."
"Why can't he just do it my way?"
"Your way doesn't work for him, Makima." Makima frowns. "If you try to force that it'll just make him more unhappy. Please don't, okay? He'll do better if you let I'm go at his own pace."
It's a softer way of chastising someone than she's heard before, but she recognises a reprimand and a warning when she hears one. The velvet glove conceals the iron gauntlet. One thing still perplexes her.
"You want him to do better?"
Mrs. Shinsou looks confused."...Yes."
"Why?"
"...I'm afraid I don't quite understand the question," Mrs. Shinsou answers. Makima decides to rephrase her question.
"Why do you care?"
"I care because I want him to do well in school so he can have a good future," is the answer Makima receives. It's not really satisfactory. Hitoshi wants to do well to get into hero school. His mother wants him to do well so he can get into hero school. Why is everything all about Hitoshi?
Idea. Brilliant inspiration strikes Makima's mind. If Mrs. Shinsou cares about Hitoshi, and Hitoshi cares about his own future, then the best way to gain their favour is to help Hitoshi. It's no longer just an errant curiosity to understand the boy that drives her, but a deeper impulse. This is what will ensure she can stay at the Shinsous' residence and earn her keep. This is what was missing before. This will make her indispensable. As long as everyone needs Makima, they will never throw her away.
It's that simple.
Makima understands the rules now. She can't just take and take and take, that much is obvious. She has to give something to get something. It's basic transaction, a little like a contract, and she's observed it numerous times in countless situations, but unlike in the orphanage she's isn't just some broker. Now, she's on the ground, and part of the equation.
If that's the case, then there's a road to making Mrs. Shinsou like her, and Mr. Shinsou, and Hitoshi as well. As long as she follows the rules and gives what they care about, she gets in return. It's a tall order to ask them to like her, so all she has to do is do a lot for them beforehand.
Armed with a new confidence, she listens in on the conversation at dinner instead of tuning it out, eagerly paying attention for any cues as to what they might want her to do.
"You're rather helpful lately."
Makima stops scrubbing the dishes and glances up at Mrs. Shinsou, careful to focus her gaze on the bridge of her nose so she doesn't directly meet the woman's eyes. The corners of her mouth are upturned and she seems happy. That's a sign that she's doing the right things.
"I thought it's what you'd want," Makima replies. Mrs. Shinsou beams at her.
"I'm glad you're starting to settle in a little more "
Indeed, she is settling in, growing comfortable with this new routine. For several weeks now she has been more attentive and asked more questions, done more chores and kept herself in sight. In retrospect, how did she miss this course of action earlier? Making everyone be eternally happy is her life's purpose, and making people happy right now is an extension of that.
She commands the animals, all of them, away from the house so the Shinsous aren't so much bothered by a single mosquito. Bugs do not chew the leaves in the garden and rats don't even look their direction. It's just one small way to keep them in good spirits, even if she won't reveal it was all her doing.
She continues to tutor Shinsou. He's… a slow learner.
"You know, just staring at me won't make me figure this out faster," he jokes.
She continues to stare at him and he almost chuckles at this. Perhaps she's developing a sense of humour. Seeing his spirit lifted lifts her own.
She's also devised a foolproof studying method for Shinsou. Makima cannot understand why he can't focus on his work and get it done, but recognises that like everyone has insinuated all her life, she's just inhuman that way. Instead, she sets a bowl of spicy peanuts down on the desk with a thump, and he stares up at her.
"What's this?" he raises an eyebrow.
"Snacks," she elaborates. It's not a very elaborate elaboration, and his look goads her to provide more details.
"When you answer a whole page right you get to eat until I tell you to stop," Makima explains. Hitoshi looks at her like she's a weirdest person in the entire world.
"Isn't this what they do with dogs?"
"People, too. I looked it up," she says. It's technically not a lie. And if it works…
And it does. Hitoshi catches his own scowl when she drags the bowl away after he's scarfed a few down the first time he finished a page and laughs incredulously. "And they call me the brainwasher."
Makima flinches, unsure if he's noticed. "Joking is a distraction. Get back to work."
Two hours into study she interrupts him and closes the book. "Break time."
"I didn't think you're a break time sort of person."
"I'm not, but you are. We're going to watch some TV now."
She drags him in front of the TV in the living room and switches on a documentary about filmmaking, and sits in silence together with him. Hitoshi seems baffled but ready to accept just about any excuse to take a break from the drudgery of studying, and gives her an appreciative smile. "Even if you're doing it in… really weird ways, thanks for helping me. It's… I think it's kind of working."
Rare genuine words from a blossoming wellspring of wit. Makima turns away, not meeting his eye. She feels profoundly guilty, because no matter how she justifies it to herself she hasn't done anything differently than how she used to. This is all base manipulation with the intent of making Hitoshi happy, so that his parents will be happy in turn, all for the purpose of greedily grasping at any of that happiness that would trickle back down to her.
The heroes on TV aren't like that. They're selfless, putting others first, never thinking about their own fulfillment when people are in need.
She shakes the thought away and listens to the documentary as Hitoshi sits besides her, humming in interest every once in a while. Thirty minutes pass, and she turns off the TV.
"That's studying done for today," she declares, and heads up to her room. Turning back, she informs him that "you can do what you want now," and closes her door behind her, missing the disappointed look on his face.
A few days pass, and Makima notices a change in Hitshi's behaviour. He approaches her more often for reasoons she cannot comprehend, and though he never sparks a conversation, he has this opaque thoughtful look written across his features that makes her want to launch her chains into his mind and drag the meaning out. She refrains from the impulse.
When the two return from school one day, pariahs as always, Mr. And Mrs. Shinsou announce that the two of them are in charge of the house for the night, the besotted lovebirds having scheduled a dinner date together at a restaurant. They leave, and the house if filled with silence. Hitoshi heads to his own room, and a laggardly Makima follows him up the stairs and corridor to her own room.
An hour later, she hears the oddest of sounds - knocking on her bedroom door. It can only be Hitoshi, and indeed it is, looking at her hesitantly with a mischievous and shifty demeanour about him, a black plastic bag in hand. The contents are indiscernible.
"Is there something you need?" she asks.
"Mom and Dad are out for the night."
She knows. "I know."
"So…" his voice trails off, leadingly, as if he wants her to follow his lead and ask.
"What's in the bag?" she prods instead, pointing down at it. It jingles in his hand.
"...we could have some fun of our own."
Makima feels well and truly lost, and decides to concede this one to him. "What do you mean?"
"I got some alcohol in here. I saw a thing in a movie and I thought… we could try it?"
"Beer?" she presses, leaning forward and taking a sniff
"What? No, the vodka they never touch at the top of the pantry. Why'd you think it was beer?"
Makima ignores the too-familiar memory of arriving at a table of pitchers clinking and blurry, indistinct faces celebrating something. "No reason. Isn't that against the rules?" she diverts.
"Not if we don't get caught. Have you ever had a drink before? Aren't you curious?"
She is. "No." It's a bad lie. Five minutes later, they're sitting in the roof of the house and overlooking the neighbourhood night sky, one vodka bottle and a single shot glass between them. It's the dumbest and worst decision Makima has made on her entire life bar none, but at least it's a unique one. And… she didn't want to let Hitoshi down.
"I was thinking we don't really know each other that well, and I saw a movie where they do this. I never got to the end but I'm pretty sure it all works out fine. Here's how it's going to go," he explains. "Truth or dare. If you pass, take a drink."
She nods. Simple enough. He pours the first shot glass full and generously offers Makima the first round.
"Truth or dare, Hitoshi?"
"Dare," he replies, courage in his voice.
"Do a handstand." That courage withers and does instantly. Grabbing his shot glass he grumbles and throws one back, sputtering and coughing as the fiery liquid hits his throat. Makima holds in a chuckle of amusement.
"That was quick," she remarks.
"I - coff - don't want to die thanks. Truth or dare?"
"Truth." Better to err on the side of caution.
Hitoshi leans back in his hands and thinks for a moment, staring at the milky black sky obscured by light pollution and clouds. It's still beautiful.
"My dream is… to be a hero, even despite my quirk. What's yours?" he asks.
She takes a moment to prepare a proper response - a pitch, if you will. She isn't one for the haphazard. "My dream… is eternal, perfect peace among all people," she begins. "And end to all suffering, in all forms, forever. The destruction, death, and collective forgetting of every bad thing that has ever and will ever exist. A utopia, paradise on earth." She states it with a rare proud expression that nears a smile.
Hitoshi goggles at her. "You're joking. How the hell are you gonna achieve that?"
She gives a telling shrug. "I know it's possible. I'll figure out how in the future." Like the almost-memories she gets flashes of, it's something she's certain can be done. Nobody can convince her otherwise.
Hitoshi looks more skeptical. "Yeah, well… my dreams not super realistic either but… if you're chasing a dream that big, what if you miss something better in the real world?"
"That's total nonsense," she scoffs.
"Nah, it felt pretty wise. probably 'cause of those spicy peanuts," he quips back. "Anyway, it's your turn."
"Truth or dare?"
"Truth." He doesn't have a death wish.
"Tell me what you're thinking right now."
Her pursuit of knowledge and understanding is mired by his simple answer: "Uh… that that's a weird thing to waste a question on. I wasn't really thinking of anything, sorry."
Makima signs. "Fair enough, I suppose. Your turn."
"Truth or dare," he asks.
"Dare," she answers. "Surprise me."
"Well…" he fingers the rim of the shot glass. "I've always been really curious about your quirk, since it's similar to mine. You can fire a chain to control people, right? How does it work? Can you demonstrate? I dare you to use it on me."
"Pass," she concedes. She's grown fond of home-cooked meals and listening to dinnertime conversation and having a room and clothes, thank you very much. No sense in ruining it.
He hands over a full shot glass and Makima downs a shot like it's water.
"...no reaction?" Hitoshi whines. He seems disappointed she didn't suffer like he did. She shrugs.
"Didn't feel anything. Truth or dare?"
"Truth."
Makima points at him. "What's your biggest fear?"
"Easy. Accidentally making someone do something terrible with my quirk," he answers. Truth or dare?"
"Truth," she answers.
"What's yours?"
"Pass." She downs another shot with a similar lack of reaction.
The game continues for another thirty minutes like this, both taking the occasional shot, Hitoshi taking the hint to move off heavier topics to avoid them both getting blackout drunk before the hour is gone. Only… the oddest thing seems to happen.
After that half hour, the effects of the vodka start to hit Hitoshi. His head feels muzzy and tired and weak on his shoulders, and his world spins. He can't think as fast and slurs over his words. Makima, on the other hand, is completely unbothered, composed and controlled as ever before.
Hitoshi leans in, scratching his chin. "'rd ya… drunk? At all?"
"No. It's very strange, I don't feel even a little tipsy. Absolutely nothing," Makima admits.
" Bull . Shit . Lemme look't that. Izzis fake?" he lifts the bottle up. Yeah, it's proper vodka. Makima removes the ineffective booze from his arms and takes a long swig, holding it for five seconds and ingesting a substantial volume of it.
She puts it down and waits. And nothing happens. And nothing happens. And still, nothing happens. Not an iota of drunkenness, while an increasingly enthralled Hitoshi feeds her more and more vodka from the bottle and taking the occasional sip for himself, the truth or dare game forgotten entirely as he laughs at the absurd, inhuman quantity of alcohol she can ingest.
It has precisely nothing to do with her quirk or herself. She doesn't drink, hadn't till now.she had no idea to warmesw
"This is so unfair. Maybe it'll kick in for y' later."
Later, it kicks in for Hitoshi, and Makima rushes him to the bathroom and soothingly thumps his back as he pukes his guts out into the toilet, flushing it only to expel the contents of their dinner again.
Hitoshi groans into the bowl, nose assaulted by the smell of scid, retching a little more, and Makima pats his back. "This was your own fault, you know. Your parents are almost home, by the way. The car is coming closer."
"Whuh..?" he mumbles, echoing off the porcelain. "How'd y'… shit. F'ck. Of fuuuckkkk. I'm so screwed. They're g'nna kill me. Y're lucky."
She continues to sympathetically rub his back. "Just focus in recovering."
" This w's a mistake."
She doesn't think so, but doesn't vocalise that thought. "I'm sure you won't get in a lot of trouble. They like you."
"N't after this".
A few more minutes pass, and they hear the doorknob juggling as Mrs. Shinsou fiddles with the keys. Hitoshi panics and pulls himself out of the toilet bowl, spitting into the sink and frantically washing his face half-coordinatedly.
"Shit. Shit! They're home! Oh, god, what do I do, they're gonna kill me, fuck, FUCK-!"
Makima sees the fear in his eyes. Unjustified though it is, for he has parents that love him and would understand, she can't help but want to reach out, and in that moment… she breaks an unspoken promise to herself.
Makima grabs his hand tightly, and both can feel the raw power coursing though the bond of both limbs.
"This is a contract. Shinsou Hitoshi will not hate Makima if Makima helps him not get caught drinking."
"What?" Hitoshi is lost for words, and despite her impatience, the worry roiling in Makima's gut almost makes her puke as well. "What's a contract?"
"Hitoshi, PLEASE," Makima begs. "I can fix this, but… I need you to agree first."
"S-Sure," he stutters. Is that his parents coming up the stairs? "How're you gonna-"
His words are cut off by a glowing yellow chain soaring straight into his forehead and phasing through his skull.
"Act normal," Makima orders.
Mrs. Shinsou opens the door, raising an eyebrow. "What are you both doing in here?"
"I thought the sink was broken," Makima deftly lies, Hitoshi still blinking and taken off guard at his own composure. He stands straight, the flush having left his cheeks instantly, and gives no visible indication of his prior inebriation at all.
"The sink's broken?" Mr. Shinsou crowds in.
"No, it was just stuck. Hitoshi helped me unstick it. We were just leaving. Goodnight."
Before anybody else can speak, Makima speedwalks out, escaping between the two adults and leaving the gobsmacked Hitoshi behind, unable to look at him and see his reaction. She reaches the end of the hall and looks back to see both parents long gone, Hitoshi still gaping at her. She has no idea what he's thinking.
"I-I'm sorry," she mumbles, and shuts her bedroom door.