Chapter Text
Hikiishi couldn’t help but admire from afar the dark, stygnos hair—obviously dyed that theatrical darkness— that spiked at each tuft. He, no she could only see the boy from behind currently, though she could conjure how he must look sitting there in mathematics from a better view. His cerulean eyes distracted—An exhausted gaze that nearly everything and everyone has met. With mauve scars splotched below his tear ducts, his lower jaw then continued to bleed down his body like beautifully painted watercolours. Hikiishi saw Todoroki Touya as the most unconventionally attractive man she had ever laid her eyes on, while many would find the lilac scars repulsive, she only saw how they framed his soft jawline. And how they added a mysterious story to the boy.
Although Hikiishi found beauty in the boy, he most likely saw her as nothing of importance —a simple male classmate, a background character, while he spoke to his actual friends. She had a bigger physique, more muscular, wide, square, while yet still chubby in the stomach. Her jawline was similar to her torso, squareish, and a bit of stubble was already sprouting again on her chin. The only parts of her that she could find feminine were her oddly plump lips and shoulder-length auburn hair. She wasn’t even an ugly woman. She was stuck in the body of a man, and everyone around her knew he was simply that. So, she sat slumped in her chair, a pout on her lips, while she blew away the strand of hair that disturbed her, admiring and self-loathing.
The teacher, Mr. Sakado, a balding middle-aged man with a lumpy silhouette and two fleshed-out horns protruding from either side of his mouth, continued his lecture about statistics, including probabilities given, and the use of "and" and "or." A conjunction of keywords that told you what you had to do to solve an equation. Really, she didn't need to listen after the initial idea about all of that; she found statistics to be simple, it was just a subject of common sense mixed with numbers. Her attention was instead drawn to her crush, who was currently tapping his pencil atop his desk. She couldn’t recognize the rhythm to the song he was likely tapping to, especially when in a room full of students murmuring and scribbling with their pencils.
“Hey. . . I missed example two, will ya’ let me copy off ya?” A scaled finger tapped at her shoulder as Shuichi pleaded for help in a whispered tone. Hikkishi glanced at her own paper, the example already thoroughly written out and explained in her simplified notations.
“Iguchi, you damn idiot, there are like ten minutes left in class! Why did you wait so long to ask?! You only have so long to finish up the worksheet,” Hikiishi scolded in a hushed tone, though she was already sliding her paper over to her friend.
“Look, man- I was distracted by s’mthin’,” He excused, already moving his head side to side comedically as he wrote down what he could quickly. Yeah, he was distracted, texting his best friend Shimura the whole damn class. She could only roll her eyes dramatically as she waited for him to finish. “But thanks, dude, though no need for the whole parental scolding. . .”
“You wouldn’t last if I didn’t,” She retorted. “Aren’t you a year below me? You're a class ahead and can’t keep your head straight!” Hikkishi scoffed. Shuichi Iguichi was a junior, and while he was technically ahead in math. She didn’t quite think he was trying his best, always busy on his phone. She took back the sheet of paper from under the boy's scaled hands, already drifting back into her helpless stupor.
She needed the day to end. Lunch period, then fourth period, dismissal, and lastly, the thirty-minute walk home, where she could open her bedroom doors to a space of freedom. The hidden makeup beneath her dresser, the cutesy skirts and dresses stuffed inside pillow cases, and the necklaces and bracelets hidden in her desk drawer. She could paint her face with foundation, contour, highlight, a lovely array of colors above her eyes, and a glossy red lip, too. She enjoyed being able to feel pretty in her flawed body.
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Hikkishi couldn't help quickening her steps as she got closer to her home. Her uniform was becoming uncomfortable in this weather. Why were men's pants always so stuffy? It was like society was trying to purposefully make men stuck with pants that dampen disgustingly between their thighs. Though she acknowledged that the sleeves of all of her feminine clothing cut too close to the armpits, creating the same conditions right in the pits of her arms. Fashion was both odd and fabulous.
She fumbled in her pocket for the house keys, already hopping up the concrete steps in front of her house. A small click was heard from the keyhole as she twisted her key into the knob.
“Kenji, will you clear the dishwasher tonight, please?” her mother called out from presumably the kitchen, judging by the audible sound of the sink running. Kenji was hooking the loop of her bag onto the hanger, unzipping the main pocket, and taking out her workbooks.
“Yep, I'll do it tonight, Mom!” She replied, hugging her stack of books and folders as she rushed towards her room.
She closed and locked her door, placing the pile of school material atop her desk with a heavy, exhausted sigh. She started to shrug off her school uniform, tossing the clothing into the bin for later wash. Replacing the loss of clothing, she pulled a muted-blue sweater over her head, tugging it down her torso. It fit almost snug, with bishop sleeves that flattered her arms, making them seem slimmer. From under her mattress, she pulled a pair of gray jean shorts. They were embroidered and embellished from the back pockets to the hems. They only reached her mid-thigh when she put them on.
Even if she felt a bit stocky in the clothing, she enjoyed how she looked. She swayed in the mirror, her hands hugging her upper thighs, while she twisted to get a full understanding of how it fit on her body. Her legs were cleanly shaved, though the big thighs and muscular calves made the shorts look odd on her anyway. The sweater wasn’t exactly loose; she knew that oversized sweaters never looked good on her. So it held close to her torso, a side tucked into the waist for a more interesting look. Kenji leered closer to the mirror, surveying the peach fuzz already decorating her chin again. Pouting, she stepped back. She could undress and quickly run to the bathroom down the hallway. Or she could simply edit out the fuzz later in her photos. She opted for the other, instead crouching down beside the mirror to reach beneath the dresser. She had to have her upper body pressed into the floorboards, her arm stuffed under the dresser as far as it could go before feeling the plastic ziplock bag snag on her finger.
“Finally,” She whispered to herself in triumph, patting the dust bunnies off her clothing and then pulling out a stick of ginger lip gloss. Flicking the cap off and smoothing the glossy color on her lips, a smile tugged at her face, her dimples showing while she put the lip gloss away. Kenji plopped herself onto her bed, pulling out her phone. Opening up her camera app, her thumbs swiping at the different filters, she performed her own photoshoot. While she tried to make cute faces, each photo would come out obscure. Multiple angles, multiple poses, and her gallery filled with failures, along with a few images she was actually pleased with.
Either way, it didn’t matter because she deleted the many unflattering photos. Picking and choosing only the ones that made her heart giddy. The small few that made her smile, the small few that made her feel pretty. Photoshop, a few small edits, many small edits, many that made her feel guilty, a turning feeling in her stomach while she lied. She swallowed her hesitance, adding even more filters, stickers, and cute everything in post.
Magne was hunched over, holding her knees to her chest, her phone still in her hands, while her knobby thumb hovered over the small button that would upload the images to her account. Whatever.
She flopped onto her side, scrolling through the numerous posts from other creators on the app. She would like a few, scroll by, then find another post of her interest. Sometimes she would cross by an account she would recognize, a student from her school, or a random relative. Magne would scroll past, hesitant to even take a peek at their account unless her own profile was recognized.
But a flash of stygnos hair, tufted to sharp points, had her pause. Magne scrolled up again, examining the image. A hand was covering the boy's face, with violet splotches seeping up his wrist from the cuffs of his black sweatshirt. A bright cerulean peeked behind two lanky fingers, catching her own gaze with his. Todoroki Touya didn’t have this app, not after her futile attempts to find any sort of account of his. She even scrolled through the follower lists of some of his close friends! Not once did she spot that profile.
With a click on the user, she scoured his profile. “medical_FuckUp” was the digital user; his bio was left empty except for his age. He had just a few followers, some other students she recognized. And then only one post, being that of the aesthetic selfie, where he hid his face. With a tap of the photo, she gazed at the image with curiosity and, honestly, some infatuation.
She wanted to follow his profile; the boy had never even acknowledged her before, so the chances he would recognize her from the highly edited images on her page were close to none. But an aching feeling was nagging at her, shoving her phone under the pillow with a huff. She stole a peek again, pulling the device back just to hide it again when she almost went to actually follow the Todoroki.
Magne scowled at herself in the mirror across the room, watching her form lie plush against the bed, stray hairs falling on her face. She really wasn’t as attractive as she wished she was, but that only skimmed her mind as she hopped off the bed with a groan. While yes, she enjoyed her outfit, she would be terrified if her parents walked in to her “cross-dressing”. “Was a bit girly compared to most of my outfits anyway. . .,” Magne spoke in a defeated whisper, already shrugging off the fabric and shoving it beneath her bed with a scornful kick.
With a pair of sweats and a loose T-shirt, she went back to agonizing on her bed. Magne would repeatedly grab her phone, stare at the image, hover over the like button, then throw the phone to the side yet again when her cheeks became too hot to withstand. He really did look absolutely beautiful, and the way he checked off all her boxes was so aggravating. One last look, then she would ignore it. Finish the treacherous doom scrolling, she would always fall into, maybe go do some homework.
The phones slid slowly into her view, the screen still showing Todoroki’s page. She refreshed it, something new appearing in his bio. It was just a small phrase, one that she didn’t recognize. “He will reap what he sowed” But it was most definitely interesting. Also sort of edgy, but sparring another look at the boys' first post definitely confirmed he must’ve been some edgy guy. She liked the photo and then followed, his follower count becoming five rather than four. She was just some internet stranger, not a fellow schoolboy.
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“Hm? . .” Magne hummed, checking the notification she had not caught while in the dining room with her family.
“medical_FuckUp followed back!”
“medical_FuckUp requested to DM!”