Sunday, September 13th

7:23 PM

The evening sun had begun to disappear beneath the horizon, bathing Japan in a soft, warm glow. Golden hues and splashes of amber painted the sky, the image reflected in the tinted windows of The Nighteye Agency. The angle of the sun and the way the light refracted through the glass panes cast long shadows across the inside of the building; on the walls and floors and upon the UA students enrolled in the work study program.

Seven of the eight had gathered silently around a small table to process everything they'd heard during the day's meeting or reflect on their failures and how their mistakes endangered a little girl. The eighth student stood by the windows; his forehead pressed against the cool glass. A small circle of condensation rhythmically grew and shrunk, expanding rapidly with every exhale, and slowly crept away as he inhaled.

So much had happened in the past week that the Provisional License Exam felt like a lifetime ago. Had it really only been nine days since his relapse? Only sixty hours since the bullet that erased his quirk? And just yesterday Yaoyorozu had tried to kiss him.

Behind him, someone stepped off the elevator, but (L/N) didn't notice.

Yaoyorozu... Momo, she... loved him?

It was all he had been able to think about, all last night and all throughout the day. Even during the meeting about The Shie Hassaikai and The League of Villains. The sheer number of heroes that had been brought together, that alone lent itself to the gravity of the situation. They were trying to save a little girl for Christ's sake, yet all he could think about was her.

No matter how much he tried to push her from his mind, all he could hear was her voice. A voice that had, for so long now, acted as his anchor. Whenever he was lost or adrift it was the sound of her voice and the warmth of her touch that led him back to solid ground. But now it was these very things that filled him with turmoil.

A strong hand placed itself on (L/N)'s shoulder, but he was so distracted that he didn't even notice it, still lost in Yaoyorozu's words. It took the hand's owner calling his name to drag him from his thoughts, and even then, their voice seemed to come from far away.

Clearing his throat, (L/N) stepped away from the window. "Yes, sir?"

"I was hoping we might speak for a moment." The Watcher motioned with his free hand toward the hallway. "Privately, if possible."

Nodding, (L/N) silently followed The Watcher out of earshot of his classmates, not even registering where they were going until The Watcher turned into an empty room.

"Is everything alright with you, (L/N)?" The Watcher closed the door so they wouldn't be overheard. "I only ask because you seemed a little distracted during the meeting earlier."

"Invading my private thoughts, again?" (L/N) asked rhetorically.

The Watcher chuckled. "It doesn't take a quirk to notice your attentions were clearly elsewhere. And if you'll forgive me, it seems they still are."

He waited for a response, but the young man remained defiantly silent, and The Watcher knew why. Since their first encounter, (L/N) had made no effort in hiding his dislike for the pro. He resented the way he felt he had been misled, which, admittedly, he had been. But The Watcher knew it was the only way (L/N) would have ever come to his agency back then. Just as he knew how he would react upon learning he had used Empath on him. But he also knew he had a responsibility to help the boy and to save him from his own self destruction. Or perhaps, it was just because he saw a bit of himself in him.

Take was born the first child of the Nagata family. Sadly, he was also the only child, as his mother fell ill during her pregnancy and passed away during childbirth. His father worked long hours and his job kept him on the move, leading to a very lonely childhood for his son. By the time Take's quirk developed, he had lived in seven different countries all over the world.

At the age of six, Take Nagata learned everybody lies. He learned that everyone is hiding something, and that people don't take too kindly to someone who always knows what that something is. With the abilities granted to him by his quirk, he learned most compliments weren't sincere. That most laughs weren't jovial and that most smiles weren't genuine. And most dishearteningly of all, he learned the words 'I love you' were only used to mask the disdain a father felt for the child that took their wife.

Since then, Take Nagata had lived his life as an outcast. He became a pro hero in hopes of finding a place in society, but even to this day the world looked upon him with reservations. The cold truth of the matter was his quirk meant he could never truly be one of them. And so, he was confined to the sidelines where all he could do was watch.

"Something's troubling you, young man. Tell me what it is, and perhaps I can help."

"Why don't you tell me what it is, since you so clearly understand me better than I understand myself." (L/N) sneered, echoing the words The Watcher spoke to him the first day they met.

"I understand your anger towards me." The Watcher said softly. "And it's justified. But please know that I only want to help you."

"Yeah, well go ahead." (L/N) waved his hand indifferently. "It's not like there's anything I can do to stop you."

Stepping forward, The Watcher placed a hand on (L/N)'s shoulder. "I swear I will never again use my abilities on you without your permission." He said seriously. "You have my word."

(F/N)'s brow furrowed as he carefully considered the man before him. "I don't like you." He said after a few seconds.

"Yes, I gathered as much." The Watcher said amusedly.

"Do you want to know why?"

"Tell me."

"Because you're arrogant." (L/N) said. "Because you can take one glimpse into my life and walk away thinking you understand anything about me. Just because you can feel what I feel doesn't mean you know what it's like. And yet you have the gall to tell me I'm damaged. To tell me I'm afraid. You even go so far as to tell me you know why. But the thing I hate the most about you is that you were right."

He spat the last sentence, as if the very words tasted bitter in his mouth. (L/N) scoffed irritated at his own words and leaned back into the wall, letting his head fall forwards with a sigh.

"I am damaged." His back slid down the wall as he fell to the floor. "Even if she doesn't see it yet."

The Watcher gave (L/N) an empathetic look. Bending his knees, he placed his hand on the floor and carefully lowered himself into a seated position with a small groan of effort. Just one of the side effects of getting older. "Tell me about her." He said, leaning against the wall next to (L/N). "What's her name."

He was silent for a second, distractedly pulling on his fingers until the knuckles cracked. "Her name is Momo." His thumb absentmindedly began tracing small circles on the back of his hand, following the path of heat her thumb had left behind. "Er, uh... Yaoyorozu." He quickly corrected with a stammer.

"You two are close, I take it."

(L/N) nodded. "Closer than I've ever been with anyone."

The Watcher took careful note of the way (L/N) spoke. Most people said such things with a fond sentimentality. But not him. His words were muddied thick with dismay. A strange emotion to convey for such a tender statement. Yet, it seemed (L/N) himself hadn't noticed. But that was unsurprising.

As The Watcher had once told (L/N), people are too involved with their own lives. They become surrounded by so many different emotions that they eventually become lost in them, unable to separate and sort through their thoughts and feelings, so they simply follow whichever emotion is strongest at the time, ignoring the why. Sometimes it takes someone on the outside to offer perspective, and that's what The Watcher was. Someone on the outside. Someone who could help guide (L/N) to better understand his own turmoil.

"Is she special to you?" He asked.

"Why do people keep asking me that?" (L/N) laughed scornfully. "What does that even mean? 'Special to me'?"

"Let me try phrasing it differently. How does she make you feel?"

(L/N) opened his mouth to answer but found himself at a loss for words. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say there were too many words to formulate into a coherent sentence, too many thoughts to translate. To him, every moment she gifted him was its own story. How could he insult her by reducing something so special to mere words? And yet, he still had to try.

His mind journeyed through all the time they had spent together. The time he injured her took to the forefront, its bitterness turned sweet by the memory of her forgiveness. He thought about the first time she took his hand and how she'd noticed him and how he started to lose control whenever he became agitated. He thought about the first time he heard her say his name, his first name, and how she handled it with such tenderness and care. He thought about the promise she made him, and the feeling of her fingers interwoven with his own. He thought about the first day they met. How she approached without hesitation or judgement. And most of all, he thought about the mundane. The sound of her voice from the hours she spent reading to him and the softness of her hand as she walked with him through the halls. Those small moments that bore no significance, and how that somehow made them all the more special. He thought of those moments, and in those moments how she made him feel.

"Warm." He whispered.

"Warm." The Watcher repeated. "And why does she make you feel warm."

Still running his thumb along the back of his hand, (L/N) hesitated a moment before answering. "Because she's there." He said, speaking the words with a fondness yet hating how they seemed to devalue her. "She's always there."

There was a desperation in his voice, accompanied by a hint of fear and a lingering sense of sadness. And for the second time The Watcher found himself intrigued by the contradiction between the young man's words and the contempt with which he spoke them.

"You say she hasn't seen how damaged you are." The Watcher said carefully. "But it sounds to me like she has seen you."

"That's what I keep telling myself." (L/N) said, pressing his thumb harder into the back of his hand. "That she's seen me. Seen what I am. She said it's what makes me wonderful. She even told me she loves me." He scoffed. "So then why?" His hand clenched into a fist as he dug the nail of his thumb into the back of his hand hard enough to draw blood. "Why did I run away?"

The Watcher waited for the sound of (L/N)'s breathing to steady before speaking. "There's a simple answer to your question." He said, pushing himself back to his feet. "One you continue to overlook. It's because you're damaged."

"I already-"

"Yes, yes, you already know that." The Watcher finished for him. "But what you don't know, or at least, what you fail to acknowledge, is why. Because you're not running away from her. No. You're running away from your pain. And so long as you keep running, you will always be damaged. The only way you can heal is by accepting that pain as part of who you are. Accept it, and then let it go."

"How do I do that?" (L/N) asked in a small voice.

"By finding the source of your pain and facing it head on."

[My Hero Academia]

Grabbing her wrist, Itsuka Kendo reached high above her head to stretch out her back. Rubbing her eyes, she looked down at her watch to find the hour hand approaching eleven.

"Why don't you head to bed, Shoda? I can finish up here."

"Are you sure?" Class 1B's Vice President asked, stapling a stack of papers together. "I don't mind sticking around until everything's wrapped up."

Kendo shook her head. "You've already done more than enough. Besides, the rest of the forms only need one of our signatures."

"Meaning if we both take half, we'll be done in half the time."

"It'll take me less than an hour to finish the rest myself. Tomorrow's a school day, you should get some sleep."

"I'm fine. Look, I'm not even tired." Shoda said, trying and failing to stifle the long yawn at the end of his sentence.

"Shoda." Kendo said in a very motherly tone. "Go to bed."

"Alright, alright." Shoda gave in. "Goodnight, Kendo."

"Night." She said, scribbling her signature on the first form.

Shoda's footsteps slowly disappeared up the staircase leaving Kendo in silence, save the scribbling of her pen and the shuffling of papers. The stack of papers gradually shifted from her left to her right as the minutes dragged on. Twice, the rhythmic ticking of her watch nearly put her to sleep, but she shook her head and pushed on. Only ten more. It was almost midnight when she finally scrawled her signature on the last form in the stack. Placing it atop the pile of completed forms, she leaned back in her chair and shook out her cramping wrist.

Pushing her chair out, she got to her feet and carefully aligned the holes in the sides of the paper with the rings of her binder. The rings closed together with a feint 'snap', and at the same time there came a knock on the front door that made her jump.

Kendo looked down at her watch. "Who on earth could that be?" She asked, tiredly shuffling over to the door. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." She mumbled irritably as the person knocked again.

"Cut it out." She hissed as she opened the door a crack. "You'll wake everyone u... (L/N)?" Kendo opened the door wider. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk."