Chapter 34: The Gravity of a Puddle and the Taste of Sunshine
[A/N:My girlfriend is out here looking for the "spicy" scenes while I'm just trying to keep my IQ from dropping further. She knows I've got the skills to write those moments, but I'm keeping things respectful since they're still kids. It's all about the symbolism and the vibes. If you're looking for the "skin part," you're in the wrong fic!]
(Himiko Toga POV)
The moon was a sharp, silver crescent, like the edge of a blade that had been wiped clean after a messy job. It hung over Musutafu, cold and distant, watching me as I moved through the shadows.
The air was heavy tonight. It didn't have that bouncy, fizzy feeling that usually followed Sunny around. It felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to break. Maybe it was waiting for me.
My parents had been so kind lately. That was the scariest part. They smiled at me over breakfast. They asked about my day. They didn't look at me like I was a ticking bomb in a school uniform anymore. But it was a hollow kindness, a script they were reading because Sunny had reached into their heads and changed the font. I could still see the beige underneath. I could still see the fear in the way my mother's fingers trembled when she handed me a glass of milk. They loved the "Normal Himiko." They didn't even know the real one was still sitting in the dark, hungry and waiting.
I reached the Midoriya house. It was the only place in the world that felt like it was in Technicolor. Even at midnight, the windows seemed to hum with a low, rhythmic vibration.
I didn't use the door. Doors are for people who belong. I was a secret, and secrets come through the window.
I climbed the trellis with the practiced ease of a predator, my fingers digging into the wood. When I reached Sunny's window, I paused. My heart was doing that stuttery, frantic dance again. Thump-thump-thump. Like a trapped bird.
I slid the window open. It didn't creak. In this house, things only made noise if they wanted to be heard.
I tumbled inside, landing silently on the floor. The room was a disaster zone of impossible things. A pair of sneakers was currently chasing a stray sock across the ceiling. A half-finished blueprint for something called a "Gigglestick" was glowing with a soft, pulsing neon light. And in the center of it all, floating four feet off the mattress, was Sunny.
He was sleeping. Or, as close to sleeping as a God of Chaos gets. His chest rose and fell with a rhythmic honk-shoo sound that actually manifested as tiny, translucent letters floating out of his mouth. His white gloves were tucked under his head like a pillow.
I crouched by the bed, my knees tucked to my chest. I just watched him.
He was so bright. Even in the dark, he looked like he was made of concentrated summer. I wanted to reach out and touch him, to see if the gold would rub off on my fingers. I wanted to see if I could find a place where I fit into his world that wasn't just "the girl who likes red."
"You know, Toga-chan, most people use the doorbell. It's a very underrated invention. Great acoustics."
I didn't jump. I was used to him. Sunny opened one eye—it didn't just open; it did a literal camera-shutter click-whirr—and looked at me. He didn't look surprised. He never was. He just looked at me with that knowing, lopsided grin.
"Sunny-kun," I whispered. My voice felt small. "The 'Stab-Stab' is back. It's loud tonight."
Sunny didn't make a joke. He didn't pull a giant mallet out of his back pocket or turn his head into a balloon. He just slowly drifted down until his feet touched the carpet. He stood up, stretching his arms until they reached the opposite walls, then snapped them back to normal size with a soft boing.
"The itch, huh?" He walked over to me. He was wearing pajamas covered in tiny, dancing pineapples. "The world feeling a little too beige? A little too quiet?"
I nodded, my messy buns bobbing. "I don't want to be a monster, Sunny-kun. But I don't know how to be a girl without the red. My parents... they're looking at a ghost. I'm scared that if you go to UA, the ghost is all that's going to be left."
Sunny looked at me for a long time. The neon light from the blueprint cast long, strange shadows across his face. For a second, the cartoonish spark in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something deep and ancient.
"You aren't a ghost, Himiko," he said. It was the first time he'd used my first name without a suffix. It felt like a weight dropping into my stomach. "And you aren't a monster. You're just... a masterpiece that hasn't found its frame yet."
He reached out and took my hand. His glove was soft, but underneath, I could feel the strange, non-Newtonian texture of his skin.
"Come on," he said, pulling me toward the window. "The night is young, and the script is... well, the script is taking a nap. Let's go get some air."
"Where?" I asked.
"A date," he grinned, his teeth doing a tiny ding of light. "A real, messy, logic-defying date. Just you and me. No Chaos Crew. No brother-talk. Just us."
We didn't walk through the city; we moved through it. Sunny led me across the rooftops, his feet barely touching the shingles. He wasn't running; he was just deciding to be further ahead every few seconds.
We ended up at a late-night street festival on the outskirts of the city. It was a riot of colors—red lanterns, blue neon, yellow steam rising from food stalls. It was the kind of place where people got lost in the noise. It was perfect.
Sunny was in full "Toon" mode. He bought a candied apple, but instead of eating it, he started juggling it with three others he'd pulled out of the air. People stopped to stare, laughing and pointing. He was a magnet for joy. He moved with a rhythm that made the whole world feel like a musical number.
And I? I tried to be the girl. I wore the hoodie he'd given me, the one with the cat ears that actually twitched when I was nervous. I held a cup of strawberry milk, trying to focus on the sweetness instead of the copper tang I craved.
We sat on a bench near a fountain. Sunny was making a balloon animal, but the balloon was made of actual water he'd scooped out of the fountain.
"See, Toga-chan? Even the wet stuff can be fun if you give it enough air," he chirped.
I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes. I was watching a couple nearby. They were holding hands, looking at each other with that soft, simple love. Then, the man looked over at us. At me.
I saw it. That split second of recognition. He'd seen the news. He'd seen the "Vigilante Symphony" videos. He saw the girl with the messy buns and the predatory eyes.
He whispered something to the girl. He looked at me with disgust. No, it was worse than disgust. It was pity. Like I was a stray dog that needed to be put down for its own good.
The world shifted.
The colors didn't fade; they sharpened. The red of the lanterns became a pulsing, visceral throb. The sound of the festival muffled, replaced by the rhythmic thump-thump of my own blood in my ears. The "Stab-Stab" wasn't an itch anymore. It was a roar.
Who does he think he is? He was beige. He was boring. He was a nothing-person who dared to look at Sunny's sun with eyes that didn't understand.
I felt my hand drift toward my pocket. My fingers brushed the cold, familiar steel of my butterfly knife. It was a reflex. A hunger. I wanted to see what color he was on the inside. I wanted to take that look off his face and replace it with something honest. Something red.
I stood up, my movements fluid and jagged. My pupils dilated until the world was just a series of targets.
"Himiko."
Sunny's voice was right there. He wasn't standing; he was suddenly sitting on my shoulder, no bigger than a squirrel, tugging on my ear.
"Look at me, kid. Not at the extras. They're just background noise. They don't have lines."
I looked at him. The yandere haze was thick, a dark veil over my vision. "He looked at you wrong, Sunny-kun. He looked at us like we were broken."
"We are broken," Sunny said, snapping back to his normal size in a blur of motion. He stood between me and the man, his arms crossed. "That's why we're interesting. If we were whole, we'd be as boring as a tax return."
He leaned in close to my face, his nose touching mine.
"One joke," he whispered. "That's all the Toon Force gets for this scene. Ready?"
I blinked, the red in my eyes flickering. "What?"
Sunny turned toward the man, who was now looking at us with genuine fear. Sunny didn't yell. He didn't explode. He just reached into his own chest, pulled out a literal, pulsing, cartoonish heart, and held it out.
The heart had a little sign stuck in it that said: [INTERNAL ORGANS CURRENTLY OUT FOR LUNCH. PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE BEEP.]
Then, Sunny's chest let out a loud, electronic BEEP.
The man blanched, grabbed his girlfriend's hand, and bolted into the crowd.
I stared at the spot where they'd been. The "Stab-Stab" receded, leaving behind a cold, hollow ache. I looked at Sunny. He was stuffing his heart back into his ribcage like he was packing a suitcase.
"There," he chirped. "Narrative tension resolved. Now, let's go. I know a place where the air doesn't smell like judgment."
He led me away from the lights, away from the music and the people. We wound through the narrow backstreets until we found an alleyway that felt like it belonged in a different century.
It was dark. The only light came from a flickering streetlamp at the far end, casting long, skeletal shadows against the brick walls. The city breathed around us—a distant hum of traffic, the occasional siren—but here, it was quiet. Small. Personal.
Sunny stopped. He didn't lean against the wall; he stood in the center of the trash-strewn path.
He didn't look like a God of Chaos anymore.
"Toga-chan," he said. His voice was different. The Brooklyn lilt was gone. The rhythmic, bouncy cadence was silent. It was just a voice. A boy's voice.
He closed his eyes.
Suddenly, the air around him changed. The low hum of the Toon Force—the vibration I'd felt since the moment I met him—simply stopped.
It was like a light being switched off.
Sunny's body didn't snap or pop. He seemed to... settle. He looked smaller. More fragile. The white of his gloves looked like ordinary fabric, showing the shape of his knuckles underneath. His skin lost that glow, turning the pale, freckled shade of a normal teenager.
He opened his eyes. They weren't camera lenses. They weren't spinning buttons. They were just green. Dark, tired, human green.
"Sunny-kun?" I whispered, taking a step back. I felt a surge of panic. "What did you do?"
"I'm going 'Normal,' Himiko," he said. He took a breath, and I could hear the slight whistle in his lungs. "No Toon Force. No safety net. No punchlines."
He took a step toward me, and his foot hit a puddle. Splash. A real splash. Not a musical note or a spray of glitter. Just cold, dirty water on a sneaker.
He winced. "Man... gravity really is a jerk when you aren't friends with it. Everything feels... heavy."
I stared at him. "Why? Why would you do this?"
"Because you're scared of the beige," he said, standing right in front of me. He was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. It wasn't the heat of a sun; it was the warmth of a person. "You're scared that without the 'Funny,' I'm not real. Or that I don't understand what it's like to be... just a kid."
He reached out and took my hand. His grip was steady, but I could feel a slight tremor in his fingers. He was vulnerable. For the first time in his life, Sunny Midoriya could feel pain. He could be hurt. He could bleed.
"I trust you," he said. The words were quiet, but they hit me harder than any anvil. "I trust you enough to be this version of me. The one that doesn't have a script to hide behind."
The "Stab-Stab" in my chest didn't roar. It didn't scream for blood. It just... ached. A deep, soulful longing to be anchored. To be seen.
I looked at his neck. The skin was pale, the pulse point throbbing steadily under the surface. It was so beautiful. Not because it was red, but because it was him.
"Sunny-kun..."
"Go ahead, Himiko," he whispered. He didn't move. He didn't flinch. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
I moved forward, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn't grab my knife. I didn't use my mask. I just reached out and cupped his face with my hands. His skin was warm. Real.
I leaned in, my breath hitching.
I didn't lunge. I didn't tear.
I bit him.
It was gentle. A soft, hesitant pressure against the side of his neck. My fangs pierced the skin, and for a second, the world stood perfectly still.
The taste...
It wasn't just blood. It didn't taste like the copper and iron of the "beige" people. It tasted like sunshine. Like strawberry milk and old comic books and the feeling of falling through a dream. It was sweet and sharp and overwhelming.
I felt him shudder in my arms. A small, human sound of pain escaped his lips—a gasp that wasn't a sound effect. It was real. I'd hurt him.
But he didn't pull away. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat against mine, two different rhythms trying to find a common tempo.
I wasn't a monster. I wasn't a girl. I was just Himiko. And I was grounded.
The hunger in my soul, the dark, empty pit I'd been trying to fill my whole life, finally felt... full. I wasn't drinking to kill; I was drinking to remember. I was anchoring myself to the only thing in the world that made sense.
I pulled back, my lips stained a brilliant, vibrant red.
Sunny was pale, a small trickle of blood running down his neck, staining the collar of his pineapple pajamas. He looked tired. He looked human.
He looked at me and smiled. A small, genuine, slightly pained smile.
"See?" he whispered. "Still here."
We stood there in the silence of the alleyway for a long time. The weight of the world was heavy, but we were carrying it together. No jokes. No spectacle. Just two broken kids in the dark.
Then...
Sunny's eyes suddenly did a violent, 360-degree spin.
POP!
His body snapped back into its vibrant, rubbery shape. His skin glowed, the freckles dancing, and the wound on his neck vanished with the sound of a closing zipper.
He jumped three feet into the air, landed on the wall at a ninety-degree angle, and pulled a giant, old-fashioned television set out of the air.
"AND WE'LL BE RIGHT BACK AFTER THESE MESSAGES FROM OUR SPONSORS!" he bellowed in a perfect, booming announcer voice. "DON'T GO ANYWHERE, FOLKS! THE FINALE IS JUST GETTING STARTED! THIS EPISODE OF 'THE CALAMITY CLASS' IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY... STRAWBERRY MILK! IT'S DIVINE! IT'S DELICIOUS! IT'S THE ONLY THING THAT KEEPS THE NARRATIVE STABLE!"
He winked at me, a literal yellow star popping out of his eye and bouncing off my nose.
The contrast was like a physical blow. The quiet, vulnerable boy was gone, replaced by the God of Chaos. But the ache in my chest was gone too. I knew the boy was still there. He'd shown me the "Normal."
I looked down at my hands.
I felt it then. A strange, tingly sensation in my fingertips. A vibration that wasn't mine.
I swallowed the last of the sunshine.
"Sunny-kun," I said, my voice sounding a little bit more... musical.
I thought about the "Funny." I thought about the "Boing." I thought about the way the world looked when you decided that physics were just a suggestion.
I shifted.
My body didn't just change shape; it warped. My messy buns smoothed out into a cluster of white, gravity-defying anemones. My school uniform turned into a vibrant, oversized hoodie. My four-fingered hands grew crisp, white gloves.
I looked at Sunny. I wasn't Himiko anymore. I was him.
I looked at the brick wall of the alleyway.
I didn't think. I just reached out, grabbed the edge of a brick, and pulled.
The wall didn't break. It stretched. It turned into a giant, rubbery curtain that I peeled back to reveal a glowing, neon-lit void behind it.
"Oh," I said, my voice echoing with a slide-whistle harmony. [WHEEEEE-UP!]
I looked at my hands—Sunny's hands. I felt the Toon Force rushing through me like a tidal wave of caffeinated ink. The world wasn't beige. It wasn't red.
It was a rough draft. And I had the pen.
I looked at the "Real" Sunny, who was staring at me with his jaw literally hitting the floor—[CLANG!].
"Sunny-kun," I chirped, my head doing a 360-degree spin before snapping back into place. "I think I like the 'Funny' even more than the 'Red.'"
I reached into the air, grabbed a giant, 50-ton weight labeled [PLOT TWIST], and dropped it.
It didn't hit the ground. It turned into a bouquet of exploding gag-cigars mid-air.
"Well, Boss," I grinned, my teeth doing a [DING!] that lit up the whole alley. "What's the next scene?"
Sunny stared at me for a second, then let out a laugh that sounded like a brass band in a hurricane.
"Himiko," he cheered, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the rooftops. "I think the 'Class of Calamity' just got its first Co-Director!"
As we leaped into the night sky, walking on the air as if it were a grand staircase, I realized I wasn't scared of the beige anymore.
Because when you're made of sunshine, the shadows don't stand a chance.